


The Herald's Tale (Redux)

by the_phantomime



Series: Heroes of Thedas [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Action/Adventure, Comedy, Epic scope, Eventual Romance, Gen, Has its own mythos, Mystery, Political Intrigue, Sequel, Slow Burn Intrigue, Tragedy, twistier than a moebius strip
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:00:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 36,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22649800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_phantomime/pseuds/the_phantomime
Summary: Ten years after the Blight, a new threat emerges and Thedas once again teeters into the brink of destruction. Demons invade from the spirit realm and kingdoms are in chaos, while ancient powers battle for dominion. On the hour of despair, a Herald is sent. But he is a hero nobody wished for, carrying a message no one, not even him, knows.A message that will lead either to the salvation of the world or its fall into oblivion.
Series: Heroes of Thedas [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1508834
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually a reboot of my other fic The Herald's Tale. Some scenes were rewritten and new ones were added.

The snow falls thickly this time, he observes, as his gaze sweeps on the blanket of white on the slope where a village used to be. The moon hangs low over the sky, falling softly on the bare branches of the trees and on the mounds of snow where remnants of buildings are buried beneath. Everything is silent; there are no birds twittering, no wolves howling while winter deepens. A perfect ode to the graveyard of the dead. 

He sighs and then looks up to the mountain range, tall and dark against the sky. They would have reached the fortress by now, he thinks. 

Then he looks to his side, to the mountain cloven in two. There used to be a temple on its peak but then the explosion happened and the temple was no more, replaced with a caldera whose walls shone red with malice. But time has brought with it the stillness of winter and for now, the mountain slumbers, the glint of its evil covered deep with the pure snow, to wait for spring where it will inevitably stir. 

He keeps looking to the mountain, deep in memory, back to the place that started it all.

* * *

If he knew he was going to die that day, he would’ve thought of an awesome epitaph. Or hugged his family more, be kinder to his clan-members and be an all-around good person, so those left to continue living will remember him fondly in their memories. As it happens, Death comes swiftly and unexpectedly, and so whatever he was at the moment of his reaping, that was all he will ever be. 

But then, it was not really his time to die and he would have thanked his gods for it, had not he suspected it was not their mercy that let him live again, but something else. Something not so kind, or else why have they flung him back to life so rudely?

He groaned and felt his cheek touching the cold, stone floor and heard footsteps running away. He lifted himself upright and found his arms were stiff. Stiff, for they were bound with iron. But it was not what worried him most, for he saw a green glow emanating from his left palm. He opened it, slowly, fearfully and saw green light shimmering like a wound.

He shrieked and tried to get rid of it, the chains jangling in the silent cell when the door burst open and a tall woman in armor came striding forward. He looked up from his panic, hearing the ring of her steel boots growing louder until it stopped in front of him.

“Tell me,” the woman hissed, her voice echoing with the harshness of Nevarra. Her dark eyes stared down at him, furious, her terrible aspect enhanced by the severe features of her face and pursed mouth. What little light there was only illuminated the scar running from jaw to cheek to her cropped hair, shining like a dark halo of danger.

He only blinked and stayed silent. He couldn’t remember why he was here or why his palm was glowing and what little wit he had was chased off by her intimidating presence.

The woman misunderstood his silence for obstinacy and snarled. “Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you right now. The Conclave is destroyed along with everyone else who attended-except for you.”

“Look, I don’t know who you are, I don’t remember why I’m here and why you’re here and the things you’re accusing me of.”

She reached down and lifted up his glowing palm to his face. “Explain this!”

The light placed inches of his face made him recoil in terror. “I can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t?” she demanded.

“I don’t know what that is. I don’t remember having that or how it got there!”

“You’re lying!” With her other hand, she grabbed him by his shirt roughly, lifting him off the floor. She looked determined to shake the answers out of him if he would not tell her himself, but before he could stammer an apology to save his neck, long white hands appeared on her shoulder and drew her firmly back. She released him and he hit the floor. He winced and looked up to see his interrogator restrained by a hooded woman. He looked around to find a place to hide, and noticed they were not alone; there were guards around them. Curiously, they did not seem to be in the mood for laughing as the city ones usually do with his kind, for they look pale, their eyes wide with…fear? Not from him, certainly. He’s alone and shackled. What else could they have seen to make them look like ghosts?

“We need him, Cassandra,” the hooded woman said soothingly, in the nasal tones of Orlais. The one named Cassandra glanced at her, and, after a moment, in silent agreement, stepped back. The hooded woman then stepped forward to him and into the light pouring from the ceiling.

Her face was as pretty as her voice. She has a fine nose, rosebud lips and alabaster skin matching with her red hair. “Do you remember what happened? How did this began?” she asked him, her voice gentle. Curiously, this gentleness did not reach her blue eyes; they stared at him like the eyes of a raptor.

Thank the gods, but the respite from the other woman had jogged some of his memory back. “I remember running,” he croaked. “Things were chasing me…then a woman..” He drew a blank.

“A woman?” she asked, surprised, her eyes losing a little of its menace.

“She reached out to me…” He winced and cocked his head. He remembered a glowing hand reaching out to him, along with a vague sense of danger. He remembered reaching out and then….nothing. “No, I can’t remember anything else.”

The dark-haired woman sighed. “Go to the forward camp Leliana. I will take him to the rift.” Leliana straightened up and nodded at her before walking out of the cell. He meanwhile, noticed the exchange and stored it for use later. He thought at first that Leliana was the leader, but maybe it was the other way around?

“What did happen?” he asked her, as a guard unlocked his chains and bound his arms with rope.

“It’s better that you see it for yourself. Come with me, ” she said and opened the door.

The humans have no intention of being kind to him, it seemed. Bewildered by events he could not remember and surrounded by humans who hated his kind, fear crept into his heart as swiftly as the light poured in from the outside.

* * *

He stumbled out of the Chantry and onto a world gone to hell. It was early winter then but it was strangely dark as if they were further in. Also, the light around them had an unnatural shade of green. He wondered at it and swung his gaze upward where he saw, to his horror, the dark, churning clouds in the sky. His slender body trembled and his long ears curled themselves back, as he stared at the great wound above, bigger than any mountain, and threatening to swallow the whole world.

“We call it the Breach,” his captor said loudly. His head snapped to her. “It’s a massive rift to the Fade, which grows larger with each passing hour. One of the many rifts that opened from the explosion at the temple.” Then she nodded to him to walk towards the gate, side by side with her as if thinking he would escape if she was not close by.

“An explosion did that?” he asked as he walked beside her, his footprints faint on the fallen snow like those of a bobcat on a hunt, while hers dug deep with the plodding of her steel-capped boots.

She nodded. “Unless we stop it, it will spread to the whole world.”

A sharp thunderclap and he fell to his knees, clutching his glowing hand. The wound in his palm pulsed like knives digging in his palm and he shrieked in pain.

He felt her hands on his shoulders to help him up. “Your mark spreads each time the Breach expands,” she said to him. “And we think it will kill you. However, that may be the key to stopping this, but there isn’t much time to test it.”

When she said it was killing him, he did not doubt it. The pain was enough. It felt as if his whole arm was being flayed.

Blessedly, the pain subsided, enough for him to gasp, “The key to what?”

“Closing the Breach or not. We shall discover shortly. It is our only chance, however. And yours.”

She brought him to his feet. The pain robbed him of his grace so he stumbled through the snow. He flexed his hand, trying to forget the throbbing pulse of the thing in his palm. He looked up at her and instead of sympathy, he saw a guarded expression at his grimaces and remembered what she said.

The pain was so unbearable he could not believe anyone would have brought it to themselves. “You still think I did it? That I did this to myself?” he asked her, with emphasis on _this_ by holding up his aching hand.

“Not intentionally,” she said, her expression softening at his pained face. “Something clearly went wrong. Perhaps you are innocent, but we have no other suspects. If you wish to prove your innocence, this is the only way.”

“And the only way to cure me, you say,” he answered. “First you give me hope then threaten me. You humans are so strange.”

“Will you come or not?” she asked sharply.

He expelled a ragged breath, hands on knees, then looked up at her. “I don’t have a choice, do I?”

He paled when he saw her face grew hard with his answer. She scowled but she led him through the crowd below without answering. The people parted before them, eyed him suspiciously. At once he tried to appear non-threatening, obediently following the human woman, used to them eyeing him with distrust and knowing that once they had seen him long enough, he would be able to disappear. To them, an elf was like any other elf. Always a servant.

“They have decided your guilt,” Cassandra explained about the stares. “The people of Haven mourn our most Holy, the Divine Justinia, head of the Chantry. The conclave was her idea and now she is dead.”

He gave a start and looked around. "So this is Haven?" he asked softly in wonder, at the sleepy little village suddenly turned to emergency headquarters of Thedas' greatest religious order.

“So you remember Haven then. Good,” she said.

Haven was once a settlement of human sacrificing cultists, but the discovery of Andraste's ashes on a temple near its mountain made it a site for pilgrimage. During the Fifth Blight, the Wardens chanced upon the cultists and killed them, so now a different and more amiable set of townsfolk lived here. There were only a few houses, but now it boasted a Chantry among the original houses as if trying to wash the sins of its past. There were an inn and a smithy down the slope and stables for the horses of pilgrims. The graveyard was gone, replaced with houses that spread on the mountainside like mushrooms. 

Cassandra continued speaking. “The Conclave was set up by Divine Justinia to stop the war between mages and templars. She was supposed to arrange peace between their leaders. But now…they are all gone.” 

His ears pricked up. He remembered the reason why he was sent here and it was to observe the humans war, the war between their mages and templars. “So the war is over then?” he asked hopefully.

“No. Even if most of the leaders are dead, the war continues in some places. But now with the Divine gone and the Conclave destroyed, there’s no hope for peace.” They reached the bridge called the Penitent’s Crossing and stood before the guardhouse.

A couple of guards went out of the station and stepped in front of them. “Ma’am,” they said and saluted Cassandra. She nodded and they positioned themselves on their flanks.

He gave a start as they surrounded him and then looked at her with alarm in his big eyes. 

“The path towards the forward camp is dangerous. They’ll be escorting us there to keep us safe,” she explained then continued forward.

“Or keep me from running away,” he muttered. “I thought you humans give trials to people you accused of a crime.”

“There will be a trial,” she assured him. “I can promise no more. Come, it is not far.” She shouted for the gate to be opened and, once it was, led them through.

He looked behind him and to Haven then to the mountain in front of them. It was full of evergreens, but the snow was banked deep around them. Looking at its savage wilderness, he wondered if it was better than the village they left. He knew from experience the forest was equally dangerous as a town full of humans. “So why are we going up the mountain and away from the village?” he asked, as they walked on the bridge spanning a frozen river between the mountains.

“We must test your mark on a rift smaller than the Breach. There’s one in the valley of the Sacred Ashes. We will see then if your marks will dispel it.”

“And how is that going to prove my innocence exactly?”

“That is only to test your mark. Your innocence will be proven after." They reached the foot of the slope and she turned back to him. "Or perhaps you have recovered enough of your memory and we can go back to your cell and try you now?” 

He paled at the thought of her with him again in that dark cell. “Ah no, I don’t know…I still don’t remember anything,” he answered, putting a hand on his brow and wobbling slightly. “Perhaps I should try dispelling the rift first? It would help calm the people back there too.”

“As you wish.”

They trudged upwards, until further up the slope, they saw things on fire on the path. It looked like remnants from a barricade, which had been blown apart. He stopped to wonder at it for a moment when something came crashing down the sky. “Is this the end of the world?” he said, seeing another ball of fire hurtling down.

“Not if we can help it,” Cassandra answered.

He was about to ask her again, but his hand sent him to his knees. The guards on his sides heaved him to his feet as he chased his breath.

“The pulses are coming faster now. The larger the Breach grows, the more rifts appear, the more demons we face,” Cassandra said, watching them.

“Demons? What are the demons for?”, he asked, panic trickling in. 

“Because of the rift. They stepped out of it, as you did.”

He stood up and forgot his pain for a moment. “Me?”

“Yes. After the blast, a rift appeared and you stepped out of it, with an unknown woman behind you.”

He frowned and held a hand to rub his head. “A woman. Yes, I remember a woman. But I can’t remember who she is. I just remember her reaching her hand out to me…”

She gave him an odd look.

“What?” he asked.

She shook her head as if to shake off some troubling thoughts. “Nothing. Let’s go. We’re wasting time.” She strode ahead to lead them without looking back, deep in thought on something else. They reached another bridge when another ball came hurtling out the sky, breaking their way apart and sending them tumbling down below.


	2. Chapter 2

They hit the frozen river along with some rubble. Despite his elvhen agility, he landed badly to his side and winced. But Cassandra immediately sprang up, drawing her sword and shield, as another ball hit the ground close to them, spewing demons.

“Stay behind us!” she commanded as she charged at the shades. He scrambled away. Another ball hit close by and a pair of shades emerged, which the guards soon engaged.

He looked around and saw an overturned cart beside him. He hid under it, and sawed his bonds with one of the broken planks while the humans battled with the demons. With them preoccupied, it would be easy to slip away, far away from her and from all the accusing glances of these shemlens. After all, he had no obligation with these people, and he knew that once the humans took notice of him, they will never let him go until their whims are satisfied. 

One of the guards cried out as a shade clawed his arm. He stumbled, then the other shade swiped at his head with his claws.

Then another fireball hit close and disgorged more demons. The shades shrieked then surrounded the second guard. He jabbed and swiped at them with his longsword, trying to keep his distance, when one of them disappeared into the ground and erupted at his feet. His legs caught flame and as he screamed in pain, the demons pounced on him.

“No!” Cassandra screamed and cleaved the shade in front of her. She ran to the fallen guard and attacked the demons hacking him to pieces.

The rope snapped off and he quickly disentangled his hands from it. As he rubbed the raw places, he thought this was the right time to escape. That was easy enough for him. Besides, what good could it be to him to stay, knowing that these humans don’t trust him? And the war was over. He only came here to report on the human’s war, not fight in it. 

But as he saw her, fighting the demons alone, while the others were closing in, he knew he couldn’t leave like that.

His captors stripped him of weapons, though. He looked around, wondering if he could use sticks until he saw a couple of knives from a chest in the cart. He picked them up and got up to attack. While she drew their attention, he circled, seeking prey, then burying his daggers on unsuspecting backs. He slipped away into the shadows, out their reach, only for Cassandra to lop their heads off. With ghostly screams, they disappeared into the ground. He thought they were finished only to find Cassandra’s blade resting beside his neck.

“Drop your weapons! Now!” she yelled. He cursed himself inwardly. He knew he should have run for it when he had the chance.

“I’m dropping it, I’m dropping it!” he said, spreading his hands, his weapons falling and cluttering on the ice. “But what should I do if the demons attack me? Chew on them?”

She thought for a moment on the absurdity of her request and conceded. “I…I cannot protect you. And I cannot expect you to be defenseless,” she said, with a sorrowful look at the fallen guards. She drew back her sword and sheathed it.

While he picked it up, she walked to assist the guard lying nearby. Blood ran out from the edges of his armor, pooling beneath him and blood gurgled with every breath. She drew him to a sitting position with one hand and with the other, searched her pockets. She drew out a vial of green liquid and tried to pour it down his throat. He was drowning in his blood though, and the liquid spilled out. She splashed the potion down the wounds on his chest like welding marks that oozed with bits of mangled flesh, but it was too late. His wounds were too deep and he died.

She looked down at him then gently laid him to the ground. She stood up, looking silently at the body, her lips moving without words. Then she raised her head and looked at him.

“Are you alright?” she asked him.

He nodded. “I’m fine.”

“There will only be two of us and I expect this attack will not be the last. Will you promise not to run away?”

“I saved your life. Is that not enough?”

“Yes, but that does not mean you can go free.”

He looked at her, weighing his chances. The handle of his daggers dug deep into his palms as his grip tightened on them. Could he win against her? “Can you promise then that after I go and do what you ask, you’ll let me go?”

She shook her head, displacing the snow falling on her hair. “There is still the trial about your involvement with the explosion. But I can promise that you will be treated fairly.”

No one in their right mind can accept such a bargain. He believed himself innocent but the gap in his memory was a problem. He could make a break for it, and let her chase him. He was sure he could outrun her, dressed as she was in heavy armor. It was a child’s play for him to escape a bumbling human, especially in the forest.

A fireball hurtled out of the sky to land somewhere far from them and he thought about the demons, roaming around. Those he was less sure he could escape from.

He thought more about his decision. Even if he could escape, the humans would pin this on his people and their situation would end up worse than it was. He remembered Knowing that the one that got killed was a very important figure to them, he knew the humans would not restrain themselves in their cruelty. He also knew their tenacity and expected that if he escaped now, they would not hesitate to hunt every clan to find him.

He sheathed his daggers. If he must play the mother bird to draw predators away from her nest, so be it. “Alright. I won’t escape.”

She nodded her approval of him. “I should remember that you agree to come willingly. You could have run while I fought the demons and instead you stayed to help me.” She rummaged through her pouch tied on her belt and produced some vials. “Here take this,” she said, throwing it to him. He pitched forward and caught them with his cupped hands. “Maker knows what we’ll face.”

She moved to the body’s feet and bent over, taking hold of the ankles. She pulled the body towards the shadow under the broken bridge, leaving a blood trail over the ice. He helped her with the second one, carrying his feet while Cassandra held him up with the shoulders. They put him beside his friend and scrounged for broken wood to pile on them and hide them.

“We have no time to waste. We have to get you to the rift,” she said to him, huffing from exertion. She gave one last look at the bodies, as if swearing something to them in her mind, then joined him.

They continued the trek upwards, to more snow and flames. The path was marked with many prints, churning the snow into mud. He looked around and realized what was missing. “Where is everybody?” 

“If you meant the soldiers, they’re either at the forward camp or fighting. For the moment, we are on our own.”

“What are they doing at the forward camp?”

She did not answer, for there were more demons ahead. The snow turned dark again at each skirmish. On their path, they saw the bodies of fallen soldiers. He saw it had affected Cassandra hard, for she spurned them on faster towards a building. He pricked his ears forward and heard metal on flesh, spells whizzing and some odd sound, like cloth whipping against the wind.

Cassandra was far ahead and she shouted. “We're getting close to the rift. You can hear the fighting.”

“Who’s fighting?” he asked. He couldn’t see it as the building was over the hill, above them.

“You’ll see soon enough.”

They ran up to the top and reached the crumbling walls. Beyond it, some soldiers battled demons, along with a bald elf mage and a dwarf wielding a crossbow. In the center of the field, a ribbon of light hovered in mid-air, twisting and turning, scattering rays of green light. With a snap like cloth to the wind, it spawned demons.

Cassandra jumped down the wall and gestured at him to run towards the fighters.

“Ah, I see you have brought him. So you decided to trust me after all?” the mage asked Cassandra when they were near.

“We have no other options. We might as well try yours,” Cassandra replied and drew her sword while she moved to position. 

“It was fortunate for us all that you considered my suggestion.” The elf turned his attention to him. He held out his hand and gestured at his hand. “Quickly! Before more come through!” 

He stepped towards him, unsure of what to do. But the mage seemed to know what he was doing, for he grabbed his hand without a word and directed his glowing palm towards the rift. At once, a ray shot out, connecting with his palm, seeming to absorb it, until with a crack it burst, the ray disintegrating, and the rift gone. Seeing this, the soldiers fought with renewed vigor, ensuring that all the demons left were killed.

They stared at where the rift was for a moment then Cassandra asked the mage. “What did you do?”

“I did nothing,” the elf replied lightly as if closing a rift was a simple task. “The credit is his,” he said, nodding at him. As the mage explained that there might be a relationship between the breach and the mark on his hand (other than color, perhaps?), he looked at him closely. The mage was bald, with no vallaslin on his long, fair-skinned face and yet he did not act like a city elf. A city elf would have shown more deference or fear talking to a human. He was a little awed at his confidence, easily shrugging Cassandra’s intimidating presence.

“Then this means it can help us seal the Breach,” he heard Cassandra say.

“Indeed,” the mage nodded then turned towards him. “It seems you hold the key to our salvation,” he said, smiling.

“Finally! Some good news,” the dwarf exclaimed, wiping the gunk off his crossbow as he joined them. He slung it on his back and introduced himself to him. “Varric Tethras, at your service. Storyteller, and occasionally, unwelcome tagalong,” he said brightly, with a wink at Cassandra.

“You forgot rogue,” Cassandra reminded him.

Varric looked at her with mock exasperation. “Now, Seeker, let’s not spoil the surprise so early in the day.”

Cassandra looked miffed but the dwarf's comment excited him.  “A storyteller?” he asked with pleasure. A dwarf storyteller? He never heard of it and he could not believe it. “Like in a clan?”

“Now, here’s one with good manners,” Varric said, with a look at Cassandra. Cassandra snorted and said “You can get acquainted later. Right now we have a job to do.”

“She’s right. I’m just a prisoner like you so why don’t we have our chat later when we’re back at our cozy little cells?” Varric said to him.

“I brought you here to tell your story to the Divine,” Cassandra clarified irritably. “Clearly that is no longer necessary.”

“Even with my client dead, I still need the payment for my services, Seeker, especially when I was forced to come here all the way from Kirkwall," Varric replied. "Travel across continents isn’t cheap, you know. Or comfortable.”

“I can’t believe you’re asking for payment with all…this.” She waved at their surroundings, the collapsed walls and dead bodies.

“Actually, I only need your apology for my..troubles. Say it, and I’ll be on my way.”

Cassandra only made a disgusted noise.

Strangely, their bickering was improving his mood. The dwarf and the elf were a comfort to him, despite being an odd sight compared to the uniformity of the humans. Or maybe their oddness was exactly the reason for his elation. When Varric joked about being prisoners, he felt a sort of kinship with him and he grew increasingly fond of the dwarf.

The dwarf’s attitude was not the only thing that caught his attention. He was dressed in worn but well-made leather pants and boots. He had on a red, embroidered silk tunic with a slit nearly to the navel and there was jewelry in his neck and ears. Over it all, he had a thick brown coat on, his arms ending in gloves for his massive hands.

Everything about him screamed of money, which was strange, considering that dwarves took more pride in their metalwork than their money itself. True, he met a few dwarves dressed in expensive clothes to flaunt their wealth, but this one was even more flamboyant. That and coupled with the general condition of his clothes made him a peculiar picture of slovenly decadence. 

Then his attention was riveted to the crossbow the dwarf was holding. “I never saw a bow like that before,” he said, leaning forward, eyes wide and ears pricked up in interest.

Varric smirked at him and held out the weapon for him to admire it further. “Isn’t she a beauty?” he crooned.

“She?”

“Say hello to Bianca. We’ve been through a lot together.”

“You named your crossbow?”

“Of course. And she’ll be a great help down the valley,” he said, tapping it affectionately.

“Absolutely not!” Cassandra interjected. "You are not going with us."

“Wait, I thought you said I was free?” Varric asked her, his brows drawn together. “Free meaning I get to do what I want?” 

“You help is appreciated Varric, but-”

“Have you been there lately, Seeker? Your soldiers aren’t enough, anymore. You need all the help you can get. Like me.”

As Cassandra scowled, leaving them in uncomfortable silence, the mage coughed. “My name is Solas if introductions are to be made. I’m pleased to see that you still live,” he said to him.

“He meant “I kept that mark from killing you as you slept,” Varric translated.

“Thank you. You seem to know a great deal about it,” he said politely which made the mage smile.

“For an apostate, he seems very knowledgeable in such obscure subjects,” Cassandra said.

“Technically, all mages are apostates now, Cassandra,” the mage replied, his good humor persisting despite her disingenuous insinuations. “My travels have allowed me to learn much of the Fade, far beyond the experience of any Circle mage. Despite our issues, I came to offer any help I can give for the Breach. If it is not stopped, we are all doomed regardless of origin.”

“No argument with that,” the dwarf said.

“Cassandra, you must know that this is magic I have never encountered,” Solas continued and peered at him with his small, but long eyes. “Your prisoner is no mage; indeed I find it difficult to imagine any mages having such power.”

Cassandra thought for a minute, her eyes settling on him and nodded. “Understood,” she answered and started to lead the way down. He was about to follow her but the dwarf held him up. “Hold on, we never knew your name. I doubt it’s You, as Cassandra keeps saying,” Varric said. “You’re Dalish aren’t you?”

“Did the vallaslin gave it away?”

“Nah. Some city elves have it. But your mentioning a clan gave it away. So, who would you be, stranger?” he asked with a smile, hands on hips.

“Eanilanon Lavellan”

The smile faded. Varric stared at him for a second, brow raised. “Huh. That’s….quite a mouthful.” 


	3. Chapter 3

They reached the forward camp near a bridge where, underneath one tent, Leliana was arguing with a man garbed in the red and white of Chantry robes. His face was plain, but his eyebrows were like that of a hawk, wings spread full as it searched for prey. When they came near, Leliana broke off their conversation and looked at them with relief. “You made it. Chancellor Roderick, this is-” she tried to say but the man cut her off, the broad wings of his brows drawn closer and steeper as if it spotted a rat. 

“I know who he is”, he said, glaring at the elf. With all the righteous indignation he can muster, he declared to Cassandra “As Grand Chancellor of the Chantry, I hereby order you to take this criminal-” pointing at him, “to Val Royeaux to face execution.”

Cassandra looked like she did not like that. Apparently, she did the demanding, not the taking. “Order me? You are a glorified clerk-a bureaucrat!” she spat.

“And you are a thug,” he shot back, “but a thug who supposedly serves the Chantry!”

“We serve the Most Holy, Chancellor as you well know,” Leliana intervened before the two go at each other like drunks in a tavern.

“Justinia is dead!” he reminded them all, raising his voice with his hands. “We must elect her replacement and obey her orders on the matter!”

Varric coughed. “Sorry to interrupt, but shouldn’t you all be concerned with that hole in the sky?” he asked, pointing at it with his thumb. 

Chancellor Roderick pointed at him. “He brought this on us in the first place!”

“How would you know? You surely weren’t at the temple during the explosion,” Solas observed, drawing his arms leisurely across his chest. 

The chancellor ignored them and turned back to Cassandra. “Call the retreat, Seeker. Our position here is hopeless.”

“We must get to the temple to stop this before it gets worse,” she said stubbornly.

The chancellor scoffed. “How? The mountain is filled with demons. You won’t survive to reach the temple even with all your soldiers,” he said, a civilian, to the person experienced in battle. 

“They can if they take the mountain path while our forces serve as a distraction,” Leliana suggested.

“An entire squad was lost on that path. It’s too dangerous. Listen to me. Abandon this now before more lives are lost,” the chancellor insisted.

Cassandra snorted in frustration then suddenly turned to him. “What do you think we should do?”

He looked at her in surprise. “Why’re you asking me? I thought I’m just your prisoner.”

“We are in disagreement. But you bear the mark, and you’re the one we need to protect. Your life will be at risk. It’s better to risk it at the place of your choice, is it not? ”

He thought for a moment and did as she asked. “Could we go through the mountains? We’d arrive faster at the temple and be done before more people die.”

He drew back when he saw that did not please Cassandra again. Her lip thinned, and her stare became so unbearable, he was about to retort that she was asking for it, when she turned to Leliana. “Leliana, bring everyone left in the valley. Everyone,” she ordered.

Leliana nodded and then the place was filled with calls for arms. 

* * *

They found the patrol, not all of them alive. Still, those who survived thanked their timely arrival and directed them to the temple.

“The temple of Sacred Ashes. Or what’s left of it,” Varric commented as they arrived at the ruins. Days had passed since the explosion but the place was still in flames. He stared in shock at the petrified bodies, frozen mid-run, forever in agony, before the hole in the cliff where the temple's entrance used to be. 

“This is the place where our soldiers saw you walked out the Fade,” Cassandra said beside him, cutting through his thoughts. “And a woman in a rift behind you. No one knows who she was.”

They walked past the burning statues and into the temple, where on a landing below, Leliana met them with her group similarly hooded. They led them through collapsed passageways, its walls of ordered brick falling away, revealing dark gangrene of rock that jutted like burned flesh. Further on, past a balcony with a broken archway, they saw a big rift.

“This rift is the first and is the key. Seal it and perhaps we seal the Breach,” Solas said, as they looked on the rift at the center of the enormous cavern. Its light rippled and twisted, sending green light dancing across their faces. Cassandra instructed her colleague to order her men to take position around the place and turned to ask him. “This is your chance to finish this. Are you ready?”

“I think so.”

“Then let’s find a way down.”

There were no stairs so they had to find their way down upon the sharp, rugged rocks. They were almost at the bottom when the rift crackled then a deep voice boomed. _“Now is the hour of our victory. Bring forth the sacrifice.”_

“What was that?” Cassandra gasped, looking around in alarm, a hand on the hilt of her sword. 

“At a guess: the person who created the Breach,” Solas answered, stepping off the rock and onto the floor. He drew his staff in front of him while frowning at the rift. Behind him, Varric jumped down then checked the bolts of his crossbow with his hands while his eyes roamed on the shadows around them. Then his gaze fell on the bright scarlet of lyrium veins all around them, growing from the ground like pillars of frozen blood. 

“Isn’t this stuff red lyrium, Seeker?” he asked Cassandra, his teeth gritted.

“Yes they are, Varric,” Cassandra answered, not facing him as she checked the shadows. 

“So what’s it’s doing here?”

“There must have been lyrium beneath the temple and magic has drawn it up and corrupted it,” Solas said.

The dwarf looked at it one last time, shivered and gingerly moved away from the crystals. “It’s evil. Whatever you do don’t touch it.”

The phantom voice boomed again.

_“Keep the sacrifice still.”_

_“Someone help me!”_

Cassandra gasped. “That is Divine Justinia’s voice!” she exclaimed.

“What’s going on here?” Varric whispered, clutching tighter to his crossbow.

“Echoes from the Fade,” Solas answered and nodded at the rift. “The rift is a wound from our world and to the Fade, and the Fade remembers and imitates. People, things, events; there are no limits to what it can reflect. And it must have been triggered to show a specific scene from something here.”

_“What’s going on here?”_

Everyone made a start, he included, then his companions turned to him. “That was your voice,” Cassandra said. “Most Holy called out to you. But-”

White light flashed, then ghostly images appeared. Above them, Divine Justinia was floating, held in place by ribbons of red energy wrapped around her arms as she looked around her with terrified eyes. A large dark figure made of smoke, its eyes glowing red, loomed before her.

Then, in the vision, the door opened and a head poked in.

It was Lavellan. _“What’s going on here?”_ he asked as if checking on a minor quarrel. 

The figures in the vision stared in surprise at him then Justinia cried out. _“Run while you can! Warn them!”_

 _“We have an intruder,”_ the dark figure said to some people around him. _“Kill him. Now. Slay the elf!”_

Light flashed again and the ghostly images disappeared.

They stared where the vision had appeared then Cassandra turned to him. “You were there! Who attacked? And the Divine, is she…? Was this vision true? What are we seeing?”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember any of that,” Lavellan replied.

“This rift is not sealed,” Solas said, “but it is closed… albeit temporarily. I believe with the mark, the rift can be opened and then sealed properly and safely. However, opening the rift will likely attract attention from the other side.”

“The other side?” Varric asked.

“That means demons. Stand ready!” Cassandra said and drew her sword. She looked back to the balcony above them and nodded at Leliana who ordered the soldiers and archers to get ready.

“Now!” Cassandra yelled. 

Lavellan reached out his hand and opened the rift.

* * *

The people at Haven rejoiced as the sickly green light at the ruins went out.


	4. Chapter 4

Lavellan woke up in bed in a rustic cabin and sat up, startling a young elven woman who entered a few seconds after. She dropped the box she was carrying.

“Oh! I didn’t know you were awake, I swear!” she said, dropping a knee to him.

“Why are you frightened? What happened?” he asked her groggily, as she trembled, kneeling. After a few minutes, memory returned. After he opened the rift, a pride demon stepped out. They had to defeat it first in order to close the rift properly. This he did and he remembered all of it, unlike the last time. Although it would have been better if he had not fainted again.

“I beg your forgiveness and your blessing. I am but a humble servant. You’re back in Haven, my lord. They say you saved us. The breach stopped growing, just like the mark on your hand. It’s all anyone has talked about for the last three days!”

“They’re….pleased?”

“I’m only repeating what I heard. I don’t mean anything by it,” she stammered before standing up and backing away from him. “I’m sure Lady Cassandra will want to know you’ve awakened. She said to tell you to go to her ‘at once’!”

He swung his legs off the bed and tried to stand. “Wait, please don’t go away. I won’t hurt you. I want to know what you mean by-”

“Lady Cassandra is in the Chantry with the Lord Chancellor. 'At once,’ she said!” Without another word, she bolted out of the room.

He can’t really blame her for running. If a human took interest in one of them, it’s quite better to not be found close to that person. He sighed and dressed, thinking that with what had the chancellor threatened, he would have expected to be back at his cell. Not here, on a private room with walls and floors made of thick boards and a bed with a mattress filled with down and the blankets fresh and thick, perfect for a winter night. 

He looked around the room. He seemed to be in one of the log cabins so common in Ferelden, with a bear pelt underneath his feet and smaller pelts on the walls. There were barrels and crates stacked in corners so they must have furnished this in a hurry. He took one last look at the place, expecting he won’t be returning to something so comfortable despite being simple and went out to face his destiny. 

He almost went back in when he saw what was outside.

A crowd was assembled outside his cabin, looking at him. He paused at the threshold, thought about going back in, decided against it and stared back at them.

“Hi,” he squeaked, when the crowd did not say what they wanted.

All at once, two lines formed beside the path toward the chantry. And then they stared at him again.

He looked at them, then at the line then at the chantry and realized what they wanted. So he stepped out, gingerly, and started walking, following the path. Not that he could change direction anyway; the lines grew thick like walls as more people went to stare at him. A large group of humans makes him nervous and here, with no escape, he walked under their stares like a man condemned. 

“That’s him. That’s the Herald of Andraste. They said when he came out of the Fade, Andraste herself was watching over him,” a man whispered.

“Hush!. We shouldn’t disturb him,” the woman at his side said. Soon, more voices were raised.

“-Why did Lady Cassandra have him in chains? I thought Seekers knew everything.”

“-It’s complicated. We were all frightened after the explosion at the Conclave.”

“-It isn’t complicated. Andraste herself blessed him.”

“-Maker be with you.”

“-Blessings upon you, Herald of Andraste.”

“-That’s him. He stopped the Breach from getting any bigger.”

“-I heard he was supposed to close it entirely. Still, it’s more than anyone else has done. Demons would have had us otherwise.”

“-Still a lot of Rifts left all over. Little cracks in the sky.”

“-He can seal those, though – the Herald of Andraste.”

“-Someone had better. You won’t seal those rifts with the Chant of Light.”

“-Walk safely, Herald of Andraste.”

“-Good luck sealing those rifts.”

And then a curious thing happened. Soldiers saw him and saluted. Chantry sisters looked at him and kneeled.

It was very unnerving. He expected the threats on bodily harm but that mixed with veneration as if he was their lord was extremely strange. 

He suppressed the urge to shiver beneath their stares and quickened his pace towards the great oak doors of the Chantry.

* * *

The door closed behind him and he faced toward the other end of the room where Cassandra was said to be found. It was chilly inside; he hugged himself and he looked around the place. Despite the torches on the pillars leading to the far end of the hall, the place was cold because it was made completely of stone. There were banners hung on the walls, above the pews piled haphazardly in haze. A pair of statues of a woman with long hair were erected at the far end of the hall, looking down on anyone coming from the door. 

At least there was a red carpet on the way there. 

He shuffled closer to the room. Midway, he heard the Chancellor arguing with Cassandra and Lelianna. He crept closer to hear them clearly and found that the chancellor insisted he be brought to Val Royeaux but Cassandra disagreed. She said she did not believe he was not guilty of the explosion and reminded him of their duties to the Chantry.

He stopped short of the door and backed away, slowly. Then he hit something. He turned around and found guards behind him, apparently going to accompany him inside.

"Seeker Cassandra asked for you, sir," one of the soldiers quietly said.

"You don't say," he answered weakly and allowed himself to be led in.

When they saw him come in, accompanied by guards, the chancellor immediately ordered them to bind him.

“Disregard that, and leave us,” Cassandra said, leaning with her hands on the heavy table between them. The soldiers saluted at her, showing their allegiance to her rather than the chancellor. When they left, Roderick glared at her. “You walk a dangerous line, Seeker,” he warned.

“The Breach is stable, but it is still a threat. I will not ignore it,” Cassandra replied stubbornly.

“Can I say something?” He said, looking at the two of them. He immediately regretted it, as he felt all of their eyes on him. There’s nothing he could do about it now so he cleared his throat and began. “We all saw I had nothing to do with the explosion. So can I go now?”

“Absolutely not! I’m not entirely convinced you are innocent on the Divine’s death!” the chancellor said.

“He is not a suspect anymore,” Cassandra said with a deflated tone.

Leliana spoke up. “But someone must be behind the explosion at the Conclave. Someone the Most Holy did not expect. Perhaps they died with the others – or have allies who yet live,” she said, with a look at the Chancellor.

The man looked both shocked and in disbelief at her remark. “ _I_ am a suspect?”

“You, and many others.”

“But not the prisoner.”

“I heard the voices in the temple. The Divine called him for help. She would not have done it if he was guilty,” Cassandra said.

“So his survival, that thing on his hand – all a coincidence?” the man asked.

“Providence,” she corrected. “The Maker must have sent him to help us in our greatest need.”

He had enough of their craziness. He waved a hand to get their attention. “I just want to say: I’m Dalish.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Cassandra replied.

“Oh, good. So wouldn’t your god send someone not…me? Not Dalish I mean?”

“I cannot dictate what the Maker wills. He does as He pleases. And besides, humans are not the only people with an interest in the fate of the world.”

“So now you’re including us?”

Cassandra frowned at him. “Pardon?”

“The important thing is, the Breach remains and we found that your mark is the key to closing it,” Leliana said, with a wary look at him.

“That is not for you to decide,” Roderick snapped at her.

Suddenly, Cassandra drew something from a shelf near her and slammed it down on the table, startling them all. They looked at the thick book in front of her then at her livid face. “You know what this is, Chancellor?” she demanded at Roderick. “A writ from the Divine,from before the explosion, granting us authority to act. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn.” She walked towards the Chancellor, who retreated at her advance until he hit the wall. “We will close the Breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order with or without your approval,” she informed him, poking his chest with her finger as she made each point for emphasis.

Roderick looked at them all for support. When they just looked back and said nothing, he wiggled out away from her. Then with a final glare at them all, he turned on his heel and left without a word.

They watched him go, closing the door behind him, then Leliana spoke again. “This was the Divine’s directive before her untimely death: Rebuild the Inquisition of old. But we aren’t ready. We have no leader, no numbers, and now no Chantry support.”

“But we have no choice: We must act now. With you at our side,” Cassandra said to him.

He blinked a few times at the unexpected change in direction. “What?”

“The Inquisition is a band of people whose mission is to restore order to a world lost to chaos,” Leliana explained, misinterpreting his question. “It was established long before the Chantry but I think you will find it still useful for our predicament.”

“It also precedes the Templar Order. But the Templars have lost their way. We need those who can do what must be done, united under a single banner once more,” Cassandra added.

“What about the Chantry? Shouldn’t they the ones who should be leading you?”

“The Chantry will take time to find a new Divine, and then it will wait for her direction,” Leliana answered. “We don’t have the luxury to wait, not with the Breach growing wider.”

“So many grand clerics died at the conclave. It will take a long time to gather them all … No, we are on our own. Perhaps forever,” Cassandra said. “And you have the mark on your hand. You are still involved, whether you wish it or not.”

“This wasn’t the thing we agreed on,” he said to Cassandra.

“The situation has changed. The event at the temple had proven that you were involved more than we realized.”

He had enough of humans’ affairs. “What if I refuse?”

“You can go, if you wish,” Leliana said. Before he could breath a sigh of relief, Cassandra spoke up. 

“But you should know that while some believe you were chosen, many still think you are guilty,” Cassandra warned. “The Inquisition can only protect you if you are with us. It won’t be easy if you left, but you cannot ignore how this affects you. Help us fix this before it’s too late.”

It was the same bargain. Agree with us and we will spare you. No one needed to guess who he would be in danger from if he refused their offer. The same type that murders them just because they could. 

He looked down at his palm, at the mark on his hand and thought it gave him a target on his back. She was right; no doubt that chancellor wasn’t the only one who thought he was responsible for the explosion. Even if he denied it, what good would an elf’s word be? They’ll wring a confession out of him. And if he managed to escape to his clan, it’d be useless, for everyone knew his name already. Someone would track his clan down and blame them. By returning to his clan now, he’ll only be bringing back a war they could not afford to have. 

He needed to play it wisely or else his head was not the only thing he would lose. 

“Alright, if it would help all of us,” he said. Cassandra smiled, pleased with him at last and shook his hand. When she released him, he said: “But I need to go outside, first.”

* * *

Later, Varric found the Herald in the storage room, chewing elf roots by the dozens. “Hey, I thought I’d find you here,” he said, startling the elf great enough to spit the plants out. “What’s happening? Some saw you bolt out the Chantry looking…troubled. Then I see Curly over there nailing paper to the Chantry doors and Cassandra’s strolling around with a banner like she’s beaten up someone again. Then everything went dark and some shit appeared over the sky.”

“What appeared over the sky?”

“I don’t know. Tripped myself looking at it and then was too busy finding my way in the dark. So are you alright? Did the Seeker threaten you?” he asked.

He looked at the dwarf’s face, creased with concern and debated whether he could trust him. The dwarves he knew feel nothing for humans but then they wouldn’t stop the humans from harming his kind. 

“Oh, come on. You can trust me,” Varric said, misinterpreting his silence. “Believe me, I didn’t come here because I was fond of this place.”

He considered. He felt the dwarf’s concern was genuine. Would it be better for him if he could have allies against the humans who want to use him to their own ends? 

“No. Yes. I mean not directly. She said some people are going to look for me to kill me if I refuse.”

“Refused what?”

“Refused to be the leader of…. whatever they’re planning.”

Varric looked sorry at him. “So that’s why I keep hearing people call you the Herald of Andraste,” he said. 

“That’s just it: I’m not what they say I am!” he said in frustration and popped another elf-root. 

“Are you sure? I thought you said you don’t remember much?”

“I did, yes, but that’s not the point. Surely, if these humans’ prophet had appeared to me and told me to lead them, I would’ve known, right? I would’ve refused and I would remember that.” The dwarf just stared confusedly at him. “You’re on their side,” he accused him.

The dwarf spread his hands in a placating gesture. “I’m not," he tried to assure him. "I know the Seeker isn’t the most harmless of people but what exactly did she say to you?”

He told the dwarf what he was forced to agree. Instead of sympathizing, Varric chuckled. “So you go from being the most wanted criminal in Thedas to joining the armies of the faithful? Wow. Most people would have spread that out over more than one day.”

He glared at him. “This isn’t funny. Especially because it’s a faith I don’t share and the faith which led to the destruction of our kingdom. The reason why we’re homeless until now.”

That cut Varric’s laughter short. “Sorry. I never considered that. But look at it this way. If you impress them so much, they might be convinced to treat your people better. Maybe you’ll be allowed to have a place of your own.”

_“Allowed?”_

“Left alone, unmolested,” Varric answered quickly. 

His eyes narrowed at him. “Why do you want me to lead them?”

“I am just good at recognizing an opportunity, even if it was through those you despise the most,” Varric replied. “That’s the secret to staying on top. You gotta be quick to catch those chances, even if thrown by people you don’t like, because they can make or break your dream. A lot of people are smart and hardworking and yet most of them cannot achieve their dreams because they lacked this. Besides, using it to better yourself is the best revenge, don’t you think?” 

Was this the reason why he was spared from before? That this was the way he was intended for, not the one he wanted to do?

He could almost believe what Cassandra said, that their god works his will even through those who do not believe in him. It was an unnerving idea; he likened it to a possession of a spirit, but he had to admit that it might happen. So, were they the ones who were right and he was the one deluded?

Then he remembered; if what this god does was true, then that would mean it was his will that his people suffer and continue to suffer. If it was merely a punishment for their disbelief, then surely, this god would have rewarded the elves who forgot their gods and followed him? The fact they still continue to suffer meant it was not. Or that this god was against him.

Either reason for him not to believe in it. Better to resist than surrender and continue to suffer for it. 

So what now? Could he really accept the title and lead these humans, the people whom he held a grudge for the persecution of his kind, as a venerated figure of a faith he does not truly believe in? 

“I don’t know what’s happening…” he said. 

Varric patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry. That makes two of us. For days now, we’ve been staring at the Breach, watching demons and Maker-knows-what fall out of it. ‘Bad for morale’ would be an understatement. I still can’t believe anyone was in there and lived.”

“If it was that bad, why did you stay? Cassandra said you were free to go.”

Varric shrugged. “I like to think I’m as selfish and irresponsible as the next guy, but this… Thousands of people died on that mountain. I was almost one of them. And now there’s a hole in the sky. Even I can’t walk away and just leave that to sort itself out. If this is all just the Maker winding us up, I hope there is a damn good punch line coming.”


	5. Chapter 5

Varric dropped Lavellan off before the Chantry doors, telling him that he had enough of the Seeker for one day. As the door closed behind him, he rubbed his hand, where the mark glowed cheerily, unsympathetic to his plight.

“Does it trouble you?”

Cassandra stepped out from behind a pillar, apparently waiting for him. He fought the urge to jump at her sudden appearance. 

“A little. How I got it is one of it,” he answered, dropping the hand as she approached him.

“We will find out,” she said confidently and gestured to him the way. As they walked to the war room, she continued. “What’s important is that your mark is now stable, as is the Breach. You’ve given us time, and Solas tells me that a second attempt might succeed – provided the mark has more power. The same level of power used to open the Breach in the first place. I don’t think that is easy to find.”

He clenched his hand, the memory of the mark and what it brought him fading then looked up at Cassandra. “You still believe that I was sent by your god?”

“The Maker’s help takes many forms. It’s difficult to discern who truly benefits. But yes, I believe you were sent to help us.”

“Why? Why me, a Dalish elf? A member of the people your people have persecuted for centuries?”

Instead of the harshness he expected, she grew thoughtful. “I..have no answer for that,” she confessed. “The history of our people is something to regret. Still, you had a point. Things now are not what they seem.” 

That’s the closest to an apology as he could get. They arrived before the doors to the council chamber. Before they entered, she asked. “I feel that you don’t believe that you are chosen.”

“Not by your god. I believe in my own gods.”

“And you have no room for one more?”

He did not answer, thinking that their god didn’t look like someone who wanted to share followers.

She sighed as if she thought that his silence was dissent. “Nevertheless, I had to believe you are put on a path for a reason, even if we do not.”

They entered the War Room, where Leliana and two strangers were waiting.

“May I present Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition’s forces,” Cassandra introduced the human man, who bowed. He had a handsome face, with strong brows, brown eyes, firm jaw, and curly blond hair waxed close to his head. A scar ran down the side of his mouth, giving him a grizzled air to his pretty-boy look. He was clad in armor with the emblem of sword and sun and a thick red cloak with great dark fur collar with red streaks enveloping his wide shoulders.

"It is an honor to meet you, Herald,” Cullen said. 

“This is Lady Josephine Montilyet, our ambassador and chief diplomat,” Cassandra said and the woman beside her smiled at him. She was dark-skinned and dark-eyed, her hair arranged in an elegant coif with a braid over her head. She was clad mostly in rich clothes of gold and purple and her smooth, long hands held a ledger and a quill. 

“Andaran Atish'an,” Josephine greeted.

He was surprised. So few humans value elvhen words, much less take the trouble to learn it. “You speak elvhen?”

She giggled. “You’re just heard the entirety of it, I’m afraid.”

Cassandra continued the introductions. “And of course you know Sister Leliana,” she gestured at the woman with a hood over chainmail.

Leliana put her hands behind her, chin up, and said, “My position here involves a degree of-”

“She is our spymaster,” the Seeker said bluntly.

“Yes. Tactfully put, Cassandra,” Leliana said with a look at her.

Lavellan looked over them all. “You all have these big titles and here I am not bringing one.”

“You have the mark. That is enough. But it needs more power to close the Breach for good,” Cassandra said.

"We lost many soldiers in the valley, and I fear many more before this is through,” Cullen reported. "We've kept the demons from encroaching the village for now but as long as rifts stay open, we'll keep losing people."

“Which means we must approach the rebel mages for help,” Leliana suggested.

“And I still disagree. The Templars could serve just as well,” Cullen said.

Lavellan held up a hand. "Why are we asking for mages and templars?"

"They're the closest groups we can ask for help from," Cullen explained. "Most of the Hinterlands is a battleground for both and now that the Breach had stopped their war temporarily, we thought we could ask them for help. They're more knowledgeable and trained about dealing with this demon invasion than most of us here." 

Leliana and Cullen argued about the merits of both their factions, but Josephine interrupted them with the bad news. “Unfortunately, neither wants to speak to us. The Chantry at Val Royeaux has denounced the Inquisition – and you, specifically,” she said, addressing Lavellan. “Some are calling you – a Dalish elf – the 'Herald of Andraste.’ That frightens the Chantry. The remaining Clerics have declared it blasphemy, and we heretics for harboring you.”

Cassandra snorted, her arms crossed on her chest. “Chancellor Roderick’s doing, no doubt.”

“Probably. But this severely limits our options. Approaching the mages or templars for help is currently out of the question,” Josephine repeated. 

This is too much to take in. “Wait. I need to know: Why are the people outside calling me 'Herald of Andraste’?” Lavellan asked. 

“Some of them have seen a woman in the rift behind you when you emerged from the Breach. They believed that was Andraste,” the Seeker explained. "That belief grew stronger when they saw what you did at the temple and how it stopped the Breach from growing."

‘And you didn’t try to correct them?”

Leliana began, “Even if we tried to stop that view from spreading–”

“-Which we have not,” Cassandra added. 

“-The point is, everyone is talking about you,” Leliana finished, with a glowing face, as if she expected him to feel honored, like Cullen. 

“It’s quite the title, isn’t it?” the commander asked him cheerfully. “How do you feel about that?” 

“I’m no herald of anything,” he answered irritably. “Particularly Andraste.” 

The Commander smiled and bowed. “I’m sure the Chantry would agree,” he tactfully replied.

“People are desperate for a sign of hope. For some, you’re that sign,” Leliana said, watching him intently.

“And to others, a symbol of everything that’s gone wrong,” Josephine said brightly, oblivious to his feelings.

He rubbed at his forehead. “Aren’t they concerned about the Breach? Dropping demons and what else?” he asked, gesturing with his hand. 

“Yes, but they don’t think we can stop it until you came,” Cullen said. 

“But the Chantry is telling everyone that you’ll make it worse,” Josephine added, still oblivious. 

“There is something you can do,” Leliana suggested, before another person decided to add something that will tip his decision to abandon them. “A Chantry Cleric by the name Mother Giselle has asked to speak to you. She is not far, and knows those involved far better than I. Her assistance could be invaluable,” 

“I thought the Chantry is against me?” Lavellan asked. 

“Not all of them are unreasonable; perhaps Mother Giselle can be talked to?" Leliana answered. "If you can convince her, maybe she can convince her colleagues. She’s tending to the wounded in the Hinterlands near Redcliffe.”

“And you can look for other opportunities to expand the Inquisition’s influence while you’re there,” Cullen suggested.

“We need agents to extend our reach beyond this valley, and you’re better suited than anyone to recruit them,” Josephine added.

“In the meantime, let’s think of other options. I won’t leave this all to the Herald. In fact, I will accompany him, if he wishes,” Cassandra said looking pleased with what she thought was a generous offer to him.

He rubbed his head. So many things to do, with his jailor tagging along. This could not be off to a better start.

* * *

A few days later, the mobile team of the Inquisition, composed of The Herald, Cassandra, Varric, and Solas, were on the frozen road out of Haven. The day was not snowing but still, it was the best they could have to travel and go to the Hinterlands. They shivered in their coats as they walked on foot; the Inquisition was too poor to spare horses. The cheery bonfires of Haven were barely out of sight when a courier came running after them. “Excuse me sir,” the man panted, his breaths like clouds under the shadow of his hood. “Sister Nightingale asked to give this to you,” he said to Lavellan, handing a scroll.

Lavellan opened it and found it contained a list of things, like a grocery list as if he was an errand boy. “She said that those items can be used to increase our influence with the people in Ferelden," the courier explained. "If you find anything on that list on your travels, you can turn it over to a scout in our camps, Master Enilalon… Eanilala-“

“You can call him Herald before you swallow your tongue,” Varric suggested, feeling pity on the poor man.

The man gulped. “Of course, Master Tethras. As you say,” he said. He bowed and scurried away.

When he was gone, they resumed their journey. “I’m not the Herald. I don’t want people calling me that,” Lavellan said to Varric.

“Alright. But what should we call you, then? As you can see, it's hard to call you without our tongues twisting along the way.”

“You can call me Eanil. Everyone calls me that.”

“Alright, Eanil.” Varric said. “Indulge me. Why is your name that long? Or are your parents fond of torturing people whenever they speak your name?”

“It’s a long story.”

“C’mon. We’d have a lot of time before we arrive at the Hinterlands and we need something to cheer us up under this dreadful weather,” the dwarf said, gesturing at the sky which was thick with clouds that were gray like a mold. 

He shrugged. “Alright. Before I was born, my clan was migrating somewhere between the Free Marches and Antiva. It happened that there was a group of people fighting there and we were trapped on the foot of a mountain range. We couldn’t go the way we came and we can’t go forward. The delay caused my pregnant mother to be stressed, and so they told me I wanted to come out earlier. A few days of sitting in dread while our supplies ran out, my mother suddenly shrieked and announced that I was coming out. She startled a bird nearby who flew up and through a path through the mountains we did not see. Some of our hunters followed it and discovered a secret path. We were able to get past the fighting through it and so in thanks, I was named for that bird. It meant “a bird that guides to home.”

Varric chuckled. “That’s amazing. Mind if I call you Birdy? I have a habit of giving nicknames to people.”

“I noticed.”

“So, Cullen is Curly, Josephine is Ruffles, Leliana is Nightingale, Cassandra is, of course, Seeker and Solas is Chuckles.”

“Chuckles?” Solas asked from behind them, looking slightly indignant.

Varric gestured at his face. “See? Chuckles,” he said and turned back to him. “How does that sound? Of course, that’s just between the two of us.”

Eanil shrugged. “I don’t mind.”

“Then Birdy it is.”

* * *

They were somewhere in the Hinterlands, a seemingly endless stretch of rolling plain in Southern Ferelden whose features of note were trees, trees and more trees. Also, bears.

As for Eanil, he felt better now that they were out of Haven. The stares from the few days had been unbearable and he wasn't used to being stared at that intensely. He had avoided those during his former jaunts in the human cities, for his safety as well as for his purpose, and he prided himself on his ability to slip easily away, unnoticed, in the midst of a crowd.

Leliana must have cottoned on that he was unenthusiastic about his new role and had her agents tail him. As soon as he slipped out of sight for a breather, he'd find one of them following his tracks. They always said they're only looking out for his safety when he asked. Worse of all, he suspected she had put an idea to Cassandra's head to show him around on a pretense to bolster morale and support. So he had to deal with her behind him, her armor clinking behind him with each step, like a bell attached to a cat. 

He felt the same now that they're here in the Hinterlands. Only this time, there were three bells. He had no idea how the three of them could make so much noise. He wasn't surprised they kept getting attacked by demons and wild animals who would have heard them passing from miles away. Or perhaps they were too deaf with their own noise; Varric and Cassandra kept being amazed by how he always led them straight to the rifts without searching. 

"Can't you hear the rippling in the air?" he asked them once.

They went silent to try it but there were only the chirping of birds and branches rustling as the wind blew under the trees. "Nope. Can't hear it. Sorry," Varric said. 

"Perhaps the mark makes you attuned to the rifts," Cassandra said wisely. 

He dropped it but, seeing the looks afterward, it bothered him that now they seem to believe him as the herald of their god even more strongly, now with proof of his "prophetic" vision.

It wasn't only their noise he was worried about. When he looked behind him, he could see their tracks laid out on the ground as brazen as if it were stamped. They didn't simply walk; they stomped and trudged and dragged their heels deep into the ground. Branches were snapped and grass was trodden under. He worried because anyone looking at it would know where they were headed, how many they are and everything, even narrowed to their race. The height of the break of the twigs would tell of their heights; their footprints would tell how fast they were going, among other things. All of it together, someone can tell where they are and set an ambush in their path. 

Perhaps he was worrying too much. None had yet tracked them, save for the bears and wolves. Since his companions seemed to have no intention of keeping quiet, he might as well join them. 

“Can I ask something Varric?” Eanil asked the dwarf after the silence of traveling was too deafening. They were walking from hill to hill, as the soil was too stony for horses. The Inquisition was still short of funds and they feared the horses they have recently been given by a local farmer would be lamed. It was just as well for him. He thoroughly disliked the idea of them barreling through the underbrush with something as clumsy as a horse. 

The dwarf chuckled. “You want to talk about me? I’m flattered. Also inclined towards extravagant lies.”

“As I have observed,” Cassandra said behind them.

Varric turned his head in her direction. “Didn’t stop you from lapping it up.”

Cassandra snorted in reply.

“Why do you keep lying?” Eanil asked. "Don't you want people to believe you?"

Varric made a choked sound and stared at him. Eanil's look was earnest so after a minute, he smiled, with a look at his face as if he remembered something. Or someone. “Caught that didn't you? It's a habit I have to keep people on their toes. Besides, tell a big enough lie and people will leave you alone.”

“Do you have family?”

“My parents were long dead but I have a brother,” the dwarf said carefully. He drew his dagger and cut a vine on his path out of the way, unlike the elf beside him who slipped between shrubs as easily as an eel through the water. “I’m from the Free Marches. Born and raised in Kirkwall. And despite what you’ve heard, no, Kirkwall’s not that bad.”

“Oh, Kirkwall! I’ve been there before. Half the city’s falling in the sea but the people are charming.”

Varric gave him an amused smile. “Charming? How so?” 

“They've got some of the fastest thieves I’ve ever met. I’ve lost my bag from them one time. I only have roots there, fortunately. I hope they’re not disappointed too much. But maybe they can use it in making rat stew, which is the best I’ve ever tasted from anywhere.”

The dwarf chuckled. “I know I have a good feeling about you.”

“So what do you do? Are you a merchant?” he guessed. Dwarves in Kirkwall usually had only two occupations: smith or merchant. Or both. Looking at his rich clothes, he guessed he wouldn’t be taking care of the dirtier work. 

“Not exactly. I’m a businessman. Goods are not the only thing I buy and sell. In my spare time, I manage a spy network.”

“You have spies like…Leliana? But don’t people usually keep quiet about that?”

“Yes, but we have a Seeker with us. She would’ve pointed it out sooner or later, though I wouldn’t put much hope into that.”

“Must we do this again?” Cassandra asked in exasperation. “Besides, I wouldn’t need to watch you if you’re a good man.”

“I’ve seen people you would call a good man, Seeker. Can’t say I envy your taste.” Cassandra snorted again in reply so Varric continued on. “But where was I? Ah, yes. I also write books. My most popular, Hard in Hightown. Guards breaking the rules to get things done. The tale of the Champion is the famous thing I’ve written. Or infamous, maybe. I started a romance serial, Sword and Shields, but I didn’t really have the knack for it.”

As if noticing something, Cassandra turned her head away, her cheeks flushed. It must be hot walking around in armor under the midday sun, Eanil thought. Following her lead, he cocked his ear and listened. Faintly, he heard the ring of blade on blade, spells flying, and cries of pain and anger.

“This way!” he called to them and made a path between the shrubs. The others followed him, bewildered, hearing nothing of what he heard. He pressed forward, until he came to a clearing overlooking a great valley.

The beautiful valley was marred by the fighting. Trees burned, wagons scattered and broken, the mud churning with blood, as mages and templars fought and bodies fell into the mire.

They went down through a steep path to get down the valley. When they arrived, they tried to arrange a truce between the two factions; Solas vainly telling the mages to stop fighting because they meant no harm and Cassandra shouting at the templars to drop their weapons. Failing to halt the fighting, they continued on to the crossroads; a sanctuary for the wounded but besieged by both sides. They liberated it and with reinforcements have secured it so no rogue mage or templar ever disturbed the peace within.

On a veranda of a dilapidated house, they found a Chantry Mother tending a wounded soldier. As a healer approached him, the soldier screamed at him to get away, cursing his magic. The Mother beside him soothed him, reminded him that their magic was being used for a noble purpose and was no more evil than his blade. The soldier tried to protest, but the Mother allayed his fears until finally, he let the mage heal him.

“Hush, dear boy. Allow them to ease your suffering,” the Mother comforted him. The soldier put himself back down then the healing magic washed over him. 

If there is any other who can help and ease the people’s minds despite all the chaos around them, it would be her.

They moved past the damaged buildings, the wounded groaning on the pallets on the cots hastily erected, and the uninjured sitting quietly, weariness in their eyes. Some of wounded had resisted magical treatment like the soldier but seeing his example they allowed grudgingly for the healers to treat them. 

“Mother Giselle?” Eanil asked, stepping forward. 

The woman stood up and looked at them, her dark eyes and face betraying nothing of her thoughts. She bade them come nearer.

“You must be the one they’re calling the Herald of Andraste,” she said to him.

“Yes. I told them not to but they keep calling me that,” he said with embarrassment. 

She chuckled. “We seldom have any choice of late, I’m sad to say.”

Eanil went silent. He wasn't sure that was a jab at his race. 

“I would have expected you far from the fighting," Cassandra said to the Mother. "Not many people would like to listen to reason during a war.”

“And yet this is where I am most needed. And I have to see whether you are the person you claim to be,” she said to Eanil. 

“Your Reverence, you meant to say you went here just to test him?” Cassandra asked, surprised at her ploy.

“I am here to help people first, but yes,” she confirmed to the Seeker then turned back to him. “So many people would have taken advantage of this chaos to raise themselves up and gain power. If you truly were sent to help us and not merely pretending, then surely you would not mind risking your safety to save these people?”

“I understand," Eanil said. "We just passed by people who believed the Breach’s is your god’s way of taking the faithful to his side.”

She nodded and gestured to a garden behind the house, away from the sight of the people around them. “I have heard of the Chantry’s denouncement,” she continued when they were out of earshot of anyone else, “and I am familiar with those behind it. I won’t lie to you, some of them are grandstanding, hoping to increase their chances of being the next Divine. Some are simply terrified. With no divine, we are only guided by our conscience and some have fallen from this.”

"But you’re not like them.”

She nodded. “I have to see you for myself and here we are. But the others do not have my means so you must go to them. Convince the remaining clerics you are no demon to be feared like the tales they’ve heard. Give them something else to believe.”

“But I heard the other clerics seemed determined not to trust me."

“Not all of them think like that. But you only need to convince a few. Sow doubt among them and rob them of their unified voice. Take that power from them and you will receive the help you need.”

“And what would you do, then? Are you going to stay here?”

“My work here is done. I will go to Haven and I will write the letters to those who will be amenable to the Inquisition. Sister Lelianna can send them for me. It’s not much, but I will do what I can.”

“Thank you, Your Reverence,” Cassandra replied.

She nodded at her and turned to him. “I honestly don’t know if you’ve been touched by fate,” she said earnestly, “but I hope….hope is what we need right now. They will listen to your rallying call as they will listen to no other.”

* * *

He startles as a flake drops on his nose, the cold touch a reminder of the hard promise that brought him here. The snow is falling heavily now and he must move or else the winter will claim him as it failed to do last time. He shivers and, putting his cloak tighter around him, moves forward, his feet sinking deep with every step, up and up the snow-covered scene rolling before him like a fresh sheet of paper.

There are other paths but his eyes are fixed up the dark imposing mountains, whose top he knew sits a castle holding the stars.


	6. Chapter 6

For the next few days, they’ve been going around the Hinterlands doing things they told him would increase support to the Inquisition, such as establishing camps to reach people hiding in the mountains, closing rifts and helping their camps find food, caches, and medicines. They also helped some farmers reunite with their animals. This point Cassandra highly approved. She explained that the Inquisition did not collect taxes and rely on donations to run. Their little acts of kindness would have ensured that the local populace would support them and ease the burden born by Josephine. They could see she was right, as helping the major farmer in the area made him offer his horses for the Inquisition. Horses that were better than what they had now. 

Eanil never really thought about the running of an organization as complex as the Inquisition. He thought the people just showed up and knew how to work with each other like he was used to his clan. He never really expected that people would work for reasons other than people needing help. To be fair, he never was taught about running a group, since it was not expected of him. 

“It occurs to me that I don’t really know so much about you,” Cassandra said one day as they trudged in the Hinterlands, going from farm to farm and closing rifts. “I know you are a Dalish elf. But where did you come from?”

He became nervous whenever Cassandra became curious. She has a rather unfortunate tendency of threatening people when she didn’t get what she was asking for.

“You…don't know?”

Cassandra considered it. “I suppose I could ask Leliana. She has collected a frightening amount of information on you. But I don’t want to ask her. I want to hear it from you,” she said, with a careless manner as if she did not realize the threat in it.

_ How very considerate of you _ . He did not say that aloud, though. Creators know what he’ll end up with that. Better he answer her now than let her go around and ask the spymaster. Creators know what she’ll find out with that. “We’re Dalish. We’re never from anywhere, though last I know, my clan’s in the Free Marches.”

“Oh? I didn’t think your people roamed that far north. Clearly I’m mistaken. I’m told some members of your clan might still be alive. Do you intend to go back?” she asked, swatting at a vine in her way.

“I might, once this is done.” Surely they’ll allow him to go home once this is over?

She nodded. “It will not be the same once you do.”

That brought him up short. He knew by now that the Seeker was a hard woman and after all he’d been through in her hands, he never expected her to be genuinely concerned about him. He did not know how to answer her. But fortunately, there was someone with him who had the same experience but was much quicker in wits.

“Oh, look at that. I didn’t know you have feelings, Seeker,” Varric said behind them.

Cassandra turned around and frowned at the dwarf. “Something you would have known, had you not kept needling me about every little thing.”

“I’m just checking whether you have a conscience, as the other humans do.” 

She glared but Varric was not cowed. “So, how did you end up here?” he asked Eanil. “As far as I know, the Dalish doesn't like going near places with a lot of humans. But here you were at the Conclave, with plenty of them about."

“It’s not strange at all,” he answered, his mood brightening. “You see, when humans start gathering together, we get nervous. Even if it was just about their own problems, sometimes we get involved even if we had nothing to do with it. I mean, look at the war between Templars and mages. They think they’re the only ones suffering, but we do too.”

Cassandra was about to say something to defend her race but a look from the dwarf stopped her. She frowned, but when she observed how the elf became more talkative if it was not her who was asking, she held her tongue.

“Back then, we thought we’re free from humans if we just avoid the cities. But with these wars, the wilderness is full of them.” He stopped to slide around a shrub in his path. “We go hungry more than before because all the game had been chased away by the fighting. We can’t even trap them because we can’t predict how they’ll act anymore. And we have to be very careful when we’re traveling to avoid accidentally meeting a mage or templar camp who would have attacked us on sight.”

“This war is really tough on everyone,” Varric commiserated.

“So when my clan heard about the Conclave, they sent me to find out what the humans were planning.”

Cassandra finally interrupted.“So you were spying?” 

“I wasn’t spying! the Dalish don’t spy,” he said defensively.

“But you just said you were sent here to watch us.”

“The Dalish don’t intentionally spy.”

She gave him a doubtful look, as if deciding to trust him. “I’ll accept that, for the moment. But how did you meet Divine Justinia? There’s a long way between you watching the Conclave and you emerging after the explosion. As I know, the Conclave was held in the hall, and only mages, Templars or Seekers are allowed inside. You are neither. And only certain people are admitted inside the Most Holy’s quarters. So how did you do it?”

“I…asked the servants to show me around?”

“Servants?" She scoffed in disbelief. "Only clerks are allowed inside the temple.”

“Yes I meant them. Clerks.”

“And they just did that with you, a non-believer, just like that?”

“Because I was…..charming! And adorable!”

She went quiet, with a thoughtful look on her face and he knew she was imagining the clerks fawning over him, agreeing to his every wish. He saw the result when she immediately scoffed, dismissing it as too ridiculous. “I find that hard to believe. Just how did you meet Divine Justinia?”

“Back off, Seeker. Shouldn’t you just be grateful that someone came by to save her just in time?” Varric interrupted, noticing Eanil's increasing discomfort at being interrogated again by Cassandra.

“But she was not saved! This is a matter of security, Varric. We still don’t know who the intruder was and how he got past through our defenses. I do not want this to be repeated again. And from what we heard at the temple, the intruder had help. If there was a conspiracy to kill the Divine, the participants must be found and brought to justice.”

“They’re probably dead with the rest of the people inside,” the dwarf answered bluntly. “I can’t believe you’re suspecting the person who’s trying to save us of causing the explosion and killing the Divine.”

“I am not making accusations here, Varric. Solas said he could not have done it. I am only trying to learn how the explosion happened. He might have entered the Divine’s quarters the same way the intruders had and finding out how will rule out many suspects.” Before Varric could think of a retort, she continued interrogating him. “How did you get past the guards?”

“I didn’t. I went through a window.”

“Which window?”

“The window on the top?”

She fell silent for a moment, remembering something. “That window’s on the sixth floor.”

“I climbed trees taller than that.”

She checked when she realized he was nimbler than she thought. “So you climbed. Then what?”

“I..went and watched the mages and Templars talk with… each other.”

She just stared at him.

“Alright. Fine," he confessed. "I never went inside the hall because I went inside the study.”

“The Divine's study? Why? What made you go there?”

“To read. What else should I be doing there?”

That wasn’t really truthful. Sure, he went there because of the books they held but he was diverted by them. The reason why he was in the study was to learn more about how this order worked. Before he left, he once argued with their loremaster that they should not just focus on their own history but on the humans too, to study how they behave and so anticipate their moves, like watching the movement of their prey so they could build a trap in its path. Unfortunately, his people were struck hard by a case of stiffness in the neck. 

“Vir Assan!” he yelled, quoting the hunter’s second law, as he raised his hands in exasperation at their loremaster. 

“Bend but do not break,” Nellas replied. “But we’re already bending so low, that any more of it, we would break.”

That was the end of it. Sometimes, he would admire this strength of will despite the times where their kin would drown during a river crossing or live through drought and famine. Other times, it was infuriating, such as now. They had grown hard and set in their ways, and though that served them well in times of hardship, it became a great obstacle in times of opportunity. Their years of wandering and sleeping on the cold, hard ground due to loss of their ancestral home had shaped them to be persistent but also intractable people. 

Of course, being a young sapling as he was, he had other ideas for his life by searching for other spots of sunlight rather than grow into the same hard, knotty post. 

They also not taught him to lie smoothly as there was no need or opportunity for it and they punished lying severely. So now he had to endure the pleasant experience of sweating under his skin if anyone decided to interrogate him, like right now.

“You climbed a window at the top of the building just so you can read a book?” Cassandra continued. 

“Hey! It was a good book. I never knew there was so much to know in building a house.”

She stared at him and slowly blinked as if she could not believe what she was hearing. “Alright. Then?”

“Then I heard someone scream for help. So I went out to find out what was happening and opened a door.”

“And then?”

He took a long time to reply. “I don’t remember what happened next. The last thing I knew, I woke up in a cell then you came in and here we are.”

She looked at him longer, trying to see if he was lying again. He squirmed under her stare. She continued doing it for a few minutes longer and sighed. “Yes, here we are. We are no further in this mystery,” she said, deflated. 

“I’m sorry if I disappointed you,” he said, hurt.

“I didn’t mean-”

“There’s a lot you don’t mean when you speak, Seeker, and that gets old really fast. He’s done enough. So why don’t you leave him alone while he’s trying to save all our asses?” Varric interrupted. 

Cassandra wanted to tell him where he could shove his opinions, but seeing the animosity against her building in half the group, decided against it. It would not do to have a group turning against itself.

“Fine, Varric. I won’t bother him any longer,” she said and kept silent throughout the journey.

* * *

Though she promised she wouldn't bother him publicly, she couldn't stop feeling bothered by him. 

Cassandra watched with irritation as the Herald tried to uncork a bottle in the middle of the field where they erect the banner that was supposed to mark their last camp. They were near the borders of the Hinterlands, before a cave going to a lake towards the Korcari wilds, with walls of odd stones that grew like octagonal pillars all around them. 

She caught movement at the corner of her eye. She turned her gaze to it and caught their soldiers looking away quickly from her. They shifted their weight, so they stood straighter, their eyes forward, watching the Herald. Almost, because a few seconds later, they were about to sneak a glance at her, saw her still watching them so they returned their gaze quickly back to the Herald, their skin growing dewy despite the cool morning and the sun not yet high. 

She made sure their attention was on him before turning back to watch the Herald. She wanted to sigh out loud the same uneasiness they felt, but she knew they were watching her. She should not show any sign of it, lest their uneasiness will increase further. 

The Herald said before that he was enacting a ritual to appease spirits and other invisible beings around the area to ensure that their camp will not be bothered. It was a tradition of his clan, he insisted, which she privately dismissed as superstition if she was generous, and heretical if she was not. She worried about the soldiers’ faith, they who were witnessing their leader enact a pagan ritual right in front of them and under the banner of the Prophet. 

But he was the Herald, who was supposed to be the Prophet’s chosen. So, who were they to gainsay him?

The Herald finally managed to open the bottle and poured out a small amount of the wine in a cup. He chanted something softly, then poured the liquid onto the ground. When he was finished, he put the bottle top back and turned around to face them. He said in a cheery voice, “Now, we can start pitching the tents.”

“Care to explain what you’ve just done?” Cassandra asked.

He shrugged. “I just politely announced our presence to any beings around us and asked for their generosity in letting us move to their place temporarily. We may never know who may be living nearby. They might get offended that we’ve pitched our tents here without their permission.”

“If you’re worried about the spirits, the Veil is not thin here,” Cassandra scoffed. She now thought it was a useless ritual and blasphemous to boot. Prayers were the province of the Prophet and the Maker, not spirits. They have no business begging for their favor. 

“It’s just good neighborly relations.” He paused and peered at her, cocking his head to the side. “You don’t give offerings around you when you move to a new place?”

Cassandra did not answer immediately, preferring to let the Herald feel how disagreeable it made her feel, before answering “No.”

The Herald frowned and looked doubtful. “Oh. That’s...sad.”

Cassandra gave him another of her silent treatment before she signaled to their soldiers to start pitching the tents. As the soldiers bustled around them, she nodded her leave at the Herald and turned to walk far away from him, wishing for space for her irritation to disappear before she could express that in front of their soldiers. 

Ever since he appeared, her doubts grew stronger. Every day, she prayed to the Maker to strengthen her faith.but the fact that she saw him constantly, practicing his pagan ways, made it hard to stay faithful. If she doubted the Herald, then how could she convince the people who came to seek refuge with them to believe that the Maker sent him to help them all? That everything will be all right? 

It did not help that the other advisers could not assist. She was worried about Leliana, who seemed to be doing their mission in bitterness of the Divine’s loss. Her reason of vengeance was not exactly inspiring. Cullen did not seem to mind the Herald’s ways and did not think of it as a theological problem. “As long as he’s doing his job,” he said, frowning at what he thought as unnecessary fussing on her part. The same was true with Josephine though she worded it less bluntly. Now that the Herald did not seem to answer their expectations, everyone was looking at her to make the Inquisition successful, and she was at a loss of how when their leader seemed not to do his duty properly. 

By then, she had walked a few meters away when a great gust blew from behind. The air grew colder, followed by the ground shaking. Hair pricked up on the back of her neck which tensed with danger, but she forced herself to look behind. 

There was a massive shadow on the ground covering the Herald. He didn’t notice this as he was busy uncorking the bottle. The cork popped off finally and he looked up to start a speech for a toast, only to see his companions standing still, looking at something behind his back, their faces definitely terrified. He turned around and found a great yellow High Dragon staring down at him.

“Oh, hi Dragon,” he said to it. 

The dragon’s roar threw them back. But instead of running away, the Herald instead quickly slipped between the dragon’s legs. 

“What are you waiting for?” he hissed at them as he wove through the dragon’s legs. “Kill it!”

A moment passed with them all gaping at the dragon until their forces erupted into action. The soldiers held their shields high and advanced, yelling in fear and panic. Cassandra turned and ran towards them, drawing her sword and shield. 

Varric stepped directly in front of the dragon. He took aim and fired, but the bolts bounced off the tough hide. The dragon stopped snapping at the elf between its feet and raised its head to stare at the dwarf with its narrowed slit pupils. 

“Well, shit,” Varric said, just as the dragon opened its mouth and breathed a fireball toward him. 

The dwarf had time just enough to stare at it coming when Cassandra shot past and deftly stepped in front of him. She caught the ball of fire with her shield. The ball bounced off her shield and she staggered back from the force. She regained her footing and put her shield high immediately.

“Move it, Varric,” she told him, charging towards the dragon.

“Yeah, yeah,” the dwarf replied, embarrassed to be caught frozen and annoyed that he now owed his life to the Seeker. “Where the fuck am I supposed to go, then?” he asked, surly as he ran after her.

“Beneath the dragon. It’s the safest,” she yelled, pointing at the underbelly where the Herald hid to avoid the dragon. He acted right to her satisfaction for once. 

Varric threw his arms up in frustration. “Are you crazy? We’ll get crushed under its legs!”

“We’ll be roasted by its breath and buffeted by its wings in the open. And it might swipe us with its tail,” she pointed out. “We’ll have three ways of dying that way!”

Varric shouted obscenities, but he followed her. They slipped underneath the dragon and Cassandra slashed at its legs, aiming for the tendons through the thin part of its skin. She picked her way towards its front legs as the dragon raged above them. She positioned herself right underneath its armpit and stabbed through the thin hide.

The dragon roared and hopped away from them towards a wider field. They gave chase, ducking occasionally at the swiping tail. It reached the open field and turned to face them again, snarling and snapping. It drew its neck back preparing to breathe fire. 

“Quickly! Don’t let it take flight!” Cassandra yelled and they ran faster. The dragon roared fire at their path. They quickly rolled away, smarting from the heat blasting near them and continued running forward. They reached the dragon before it could breathe fire again; the Herald nimbly climbed up the dragon’s back and jumped from wing to wing, holding his daggers low to shred the thin membranes with long gashes as he passed. Meanwhile, Varric shot repeatedly at the dragon’s snout, aiming at the delicate skin inside its nostrils as the dragon put up its second eyelid to protect its eyes from his bolts. Underneath the dragon, Cassandra continued cutting at its legs opening the tough hide for deeper wounds.

The dragon thrashed and screeched. Cassandra ducked and rolled to avoid the stomping legs. Varric did the same to avoid the sweep of its wings. Meanwhile, the Herald clung to its back as it bucked to dislodge him and hopped away when its head came up to snap at him. The dragon gave up on attacking him and attempted to fly. It rose up and beat its wings but the air was only passing through the gashes on its wings so it crashed back to the ground with an angry roar. 

Seeing it helpless put fire in the hearts of the soldiers hanging back and they yelled to attack. They emerged from their hiding places and grabbing spears and tent poles, ran towards the injured dragon. 

The dragon heard their yells and whipped its head to face them. It drew its head back and breathed fire on the oncoming attackers. Wisened with the earlier attack, it waved its head to spread the heat as it retreated. The people caught in the fire screamed then fell and when its breath stopped, some were rolling on the ground like logs. 

Cassandra heard their screams and looked at what it had done. Seeing them running and rolling on the ground to put out the flames filled her with seething rage and she swiped at the dragon's legs deeper. Hot blood spurted as she passed, filling the air with an acrid scent.

The dragon stopped mid breathe and looked below it. It raised its front paw and swiped at the Seeker. She put up her shield, catching the claw and the talons raked deep cuts on it as she was thrown back. She landed on her back and then quickly rolled away as the dragon turned to swipe her with its tail. 

The soldiers in the field scattered, dismayed at the sight of their comrades who bore the brunt of the dragon's fire. Yet some, seeing their leaders continue fighting the dragon, picked up their spears and ran towards the dragon. They buried their spears and tent poles with furious yells for their fallen comrades. They drew the swords and hacked at its limbs, even as the dragon reared and attempted to stomp on them.

Cassandra was done immobilizing it and for the final blow, buried her sword deep in its armpit, aiming for its heart. Coincidentally, the dragon reared and after unsuccessfully driving away from the soldiers with it, moved down and landed on the sword. The sword sank all the way to the hilt and the dragon shrieked as it pierced its heart, then staggered back. Its legs buckled then its great body fell to its side. The dragon gave a rattling breath before the soldiers dug their spears repeatedly over its body over and over.

When at last, it was dead, they surveyed the devastation from the fight. Their camp was in ruins and some of their soldiers were lying dead in the blackened field despite their stock of potions and the efforts of their healers. The branches of the trees hung broken by the dragon’s thrashing or lit on fire. Grooves ran deep into the ground from the claws and the grass around the corpse was upturned, roots showing bright against the burned ground.

Cassandra surveyed the damage, then turned to the Herald beside her. “It seems your ritual did something after all.”

* * *

Meeting the dragon was not the only incident where she grew irritated with the Herald. A few days later, they watched him climb up to a rock cliff to get the shining, mysterious object wedged on its top. 

He already told her his beliefs which did not help in encouraging the spread of the faith, even if he himself led it. It worried her. Was it not faith that brought them a second hope to restore order to this world?

If it was faith, then why him? Why not someone more pliable to the Maker’s will? She was less sure than others that the woman who brought him back to them at the Temple was Andraste. Yet there was the matter of his survival. He survived when no one else had, not even the Divine. Clearly, it was a miracle.

And yet she saw him turn away frequently many people who believed that miracle. People who come to him to affirm their faith and be disappointed. So was he really a herald sent by Andraste?

There was also a matter of his demeanor. People looked for a leader that inspires them, makes them feel greater than they are so they have the power to do more than they ever thought they could. Yet his presence was not powerful, his words simple, and his actions without flair, so it fell to the advisors to convince people in supporting the Inquisition; that their mission was worth fighting for. Heroes should be larger than life but this one seemed content to be his small self. 

Her doubt in the Herald was not the only thing plaguing her. They still have no idea who caused the explosion. She was the right hand of Divine Justinia and she thought she failed her. Failed all her friends, for the Divine was not the only one in the Conclave. Her mentors, her colleagues and a friend she once loved were also in the temple and the explosion took them all, leaving her alone with no idea how to give them the justice they deserved. 

Now here they are, deep in the wilderness, led by someone whose beliefs they did not share. 

The Herald had reached the top of the rock and plucked the object from it. They’ve discovered those scattered all over the Hinterlands, when they found a viewing stone made of a skull with lenses from the back of the head to one socket. She would have paid no attention to it, thinking them relics of a pagan past, but the Herald as he was, fiddled with it and discovered them. What these objects were, they had no idea, even the scholars they have back at Haven. They looked like rectangular slabs of stone with inscriptions around the glowing center. 

The Herald dusted it off and put it in his pack. Then he jumped down nimbly like the mountain goats they saw frequently around and dropped in front of them. 

“So, where are we going?” he asked them. 

They stared at him.

“I thought you knew, Herald,” Varric said, looking confused. “Isn’t that why we’re picking those stuff up?”

“No. I just thought it was pretty.”

Cassandra grew angry. “You mean we were attacked by bandits, got bitten by wolves and nearly got mauled by a bear just to bring you here and pick that up because it was pretty?”

The Herald looked at her for a moment then said “Uh, yes?”

The others fell quiet, looking nervously at Cassandra who was fuming. The rustling of branches by the wind grew louder. When she was about to yell, he added, “Look, we don’t know where the rifts are unless we walk around. And I don’t know where we’re going so why not pick these up while we’re at it? I mean they must be worth something or they wouldn’t be scattered deliberately like this.”

They fell silent again, looking more nervous now as Cassandra glared at him. After a minute, she turned her heel and walked off.

“Where are you going?” he yelled at her back.

“I need to punch a tree,” she answered.

“But what has the tree done to you?”

She came marching back and said, “If I hit someone who had done something to me, the inquisition would fail without him and the people responsible for the explosion of the Conclave will certainly win.”

He thought about it for a moment and said to her, “On second thought, the tree had it coming. How dare it stands upon our way! Give it a good thrashing!”


	7. Chapter 7

They were finally free of the Hinterlands and returned to Haven gratefully, glad to be rid of the sight of wayward goats, endless trees and aggressive bears. Before they could head off to their cabins for rest, they needed to report to the advisers first and so they dragged their sore feet to the Chantry. However, the advisers met them before the doors, saying that they have urgent news. At the sight of Cullen, Varric opened his arms wide and exclaimed, “Cullen! You’re also here? Why, you’re looking more handsome every time I see you.”

Cullen sighed deep."Nice to see you too, Varric," he replied wearily. The wind blew, stirring the fur on his collar but nary a hair on his head moved, clinging to his scalp stubbornly stiff like a sponge dipped in plaster. 

Varric grinned and turned to Eanil. “Well, me and Solas will be going then,” he said. “Your advisers might have something to discuss with you in private.”

“I would like it if you both come with me,” Eanil said. He was still daunted by his advisers. For some reason, he felt better with Varric and Solas and he thought he could stave off his anxiety during council meetings with them beside him. 

Varric raised his brow at him. “Uh, sure, but I don’t know how they feel about that,” he said, with a glance at the advisers.

“If this is what the Herald wished, then so be it,” Cassandra said in a chippy tone and went inside the building. Josephine was much more welcoming as she bade them join them.

When they were all seated, Leliana spoke first. “First, a matter you would be highly interested in, Herald,” she said and handed some scrolls made of thick paper and tied with string over to him. “We received word from your clan inquiring about you. There’s also a letter addressed to you personally.”

He didn’t show how this bothered him as she handed the letters over. Clearly, the Inquisition’s reach was growing, since even his clan had heard of them. Unfortunately, it also meant that no one was safe from Leliana’s agents. _Unfortunately_ , as part of the reason he stayed here and pretended to be their hero was to protect his clan, and their protection depends on no one knowing their whereabouts.

He noted that the keeper chose to write instead of sending someone to find more about him and grew saddened. He would have liked someone from his clan to come visit him and ask how he was doing for he was terribly lonely and the people around him cared only for what he could do for them. But he realized the one they'd be sending would have to cross oceans and climb through mountains to see him, just as he did for the Conclave. His clan mates had little love for human settlements and their ignorance about human ways would probably land them in trouble or worse, killed. No, it was better this way, he thought. The keeper likely had good reason to write instead of sending someone.

He would have to endure his loneliness a little longer.

He opened both letters. He noticed the knot was expertly tied with the knot’s design being only something the Dalish knew how to do. He pulled the string off and opened the letter. The first one was a formal letter to the Inquisition with the keeper carefully wording her message inquiring about the condition of her kin and a request to treat him well. 

When he opened his personal letter, there was a tell-tale absence of a fragrance which his mother would use in their secret messages, a scent too light for human noses and its recipe too obscure to be replicated. He then knew it had been opened. 

His letter was much less formal but straight to the point as he remembered. The keeper had a reputation for being frank and brutal to the point of honesty, but her feelings rarely spiral out of control, her anger passing swiftly like a bird, her will firm like a tree on a crag and her thoughts steady as she led their clan through even the darkest of times. Her words though brief brought warmth as he never felt when he arrived here which spread all over his body, from his center to his fingertips, like feeling returning on frostbitten limbs, until he wanted to cry for longing. 

“What should we tell them?” Leliana asked him as he put the letter down when he finished reading. He kept his face blank as if he did not suspect her of reading his letters. He looked up at her. Her face looked equally as innocent as if she did not read his letters. 

He dropped the letter on the table. “I’ll write to my mother that I’m fine and I’m working with you by choice.”

Leliana paused. “Your mother?”

“Yes. The keeper.”

“She’s probably worried about you,” Varric said softly beside him.

“She is. She was asking me how I am,” he said. 

“Awww-”

“Then asked if I did it.”

“-wwwwwhat?”

“She was asking if I did the explosion,” he repeated.

Varric fell silent, blinking a few times. “Wow. She must be a hard-ass, your mother,” he said finally.

“No, you don’t understand. I kind of get into a….lot of trouble so she thought it’s simplest to know first if I’m involved.”

“And are you involved?” Cassandra asked, her sharp eyes boring into him. 

“Most of the time.”

Leliana informed them that there was a response from the letters of Mother Giselle. The clerics have agreed to meet with them in the square in Val Royeaux.

“I’ve already coordinated with our people regarding your journey,” Josephine said to him. "The horses are ready to go as soon as you're rested."

Then Cullen reported about the results of his mission regarding the invitation of the proprietor of the Black Emporium in Kirkwall.

“What’s that?” Cassandra asked.

“Just a shop selling odd things,” Cullen said hurriedly, as if wanting to change the subject. He turned to Eanil “The owner, Xenon the Antiquarian, sends his congratulations for your appointment as the Herald of Andraste and wishes you many nugs, which he assures, you will find more useful than those surrounding you now.”

They all stared at Cullen.

“I’m just repeating what he said,” Cullen said and shifted in his seat. “Also, as a token of his regard, he’s sent you an amulet, which he says to help you find objects your eyes are too lazy to see and to complete your collections, which you will find, to your rage, that it will end up to be pointless.”

Varric chuckled. “I can’t believe you had it in you to insult our leader, Curly.”

“I was just repeating what the owner said,” Cullen insisted. “He stipulated that we relay exactly what he said or there’ll be consequences.”

“What sort of consequences?” 

Cullen hesitated. “I didn't ask, particularly as it was threatened by someone mummified while alive.”

He ignored the clamor to know more about the interesting mummy and brought up a package underneath. He pushed it across the table to the Herald. Eanil unwrapped it and saw an amulet the right size for his palm nestled in the wraps. He held it up and it pulsed, which made the containers near the walls and books in the shelf glow. 

“Nice bauble,” Varric remarked at the carved wolf head in his hand.

Eanil however, was staring at it with a frown. “Wolves are bad luck,” he said. 

At once, the pendant’s appearance changed. It now morphed into the eye and sword of the Inquisition without missing a single pulsing of the light.

They looked at it in his hands where the amulet glowed with a menacing green light from its one eye. 

“It must have been offended,” Eanil remarked.

“Yeah,” Varric agreed reluctantly, “but now I’m not sure whether the Wolf of Bad Luck is worse than the Glowing Eye of Doom.”

“Anyway, you should take the time to relax, Herald,” Josephine said, changing the subject. She was as sweet as ever but he suspected, by the clever look in her eyes, that she might just be as ruthless as the others and he shouldn’t be confident in trusting her completely just because she looked kinder to him.

“Good idea, Josephine,” Cullen said. “The Herald had done much to create support for the Inquisition for the past week. Don’t worry, Herald, we’ll take over from here,” he assured him, his thoughts running on the set channels of order and routine, with no deviations or curiosity to see more than he was given. He was rather the sort of person who goes through life unquestioningly, without imagination and so had no interest in seeing more than what was in front of him or how things would look from another perspective. He was like a boulder rolling down a mountain, heedless of anything in his way, caring only that he do not diverge from his path as he pressed firmly close to the ground, so for instances that a more active agent comes up his way like a shoot suddenly springing up and launching him to a different trajectory, he did not wonder where it came from or how it came about and treat the new direction as if it was his intention all along. 

So he did not imagine the Herald thinking if they had done enough to secure his support and treated his silence as fatigue from their work. To his more heroic conception of reality and people, someone reluctant to be a shining example was rather unthinkable. 

“That’s it for today, then?” Cassandra asked around the table when they all fell silent. “If the Herald had something else to add….?

They looked at him and Eanil jerked up in his seat on the head of the table and stood. He still was not used to this kind of ceremony. “Sorry. The meeting is adjourned,” he declared.

That was their cue to rise up from their seats. He wondered if he didn’t rise up would they have continued sitting down, forever waiting for him? It looked ridiculous and he longed for the simple rituals back at his clan, where people do not wear masks of civility while holding murder in their heart. Sure they have a smile on their face when they meet him but then they turn around and be abusive to people who share his ears. They would do it unthinkingly, as if that had always been the way. 

He found it hard to warm to these people who made no effort to endear themselves to him, asking his help as if it was their right. They looked at him as their savior, a figure near divine, but they ignored the flesh and blood underneath the image. He hoped they would see him for what he was and treat his people better but that did not happen. Or at least those who did see clearly recoiled in disgust and complain irritably why a knife-ear was chosen to rule over them. 

“Hey, Birdy? You coming or you just gonna keep counting the bricks on the wall?”

He looked around with a start and saw Varric holding the door open. The room was emptied of people except for them. 

“ Sorry. Yes, I’m coming. I was just tired,” he answered, getting off his chair as if it was filled with embers. 

Varric chuckled. “Tired enough to fall asleep in your chair? C’mon,” he said, with a pat on his back as he walked past him. “Let’s go to the inn for a drink. On me.”

* * *

Eanil walked out the Chantry doors with a load lighter than before. Getting the support of Mother Giselle must have lifted the pressure off his adviser’s shoulders so they did not pack his schedule as full as usual. As they prepared for his journey to Val Royeaux, they told him he had a few days free to spend where he wished.

He thought about going to the bar where Varric usually stayed but he knew the dwarf wouldn’t be there. He drank too much last night so he was probably sleeping it off. And he didn't dare go in there alone. He wouldn’t know what to do there or know anyone else. He didn’t feel comfortable sharing food and wine with people he did not know or have no connection with. Of course, the humans do not share food with each other like they did. Their connections to each other were fleeting and impersonal like the coins they exchange.

Purely transactional. 

He missed the gathering of his clan around the campfire, sharing food and wine along with the stories, and all warmed with the feeling of belonging. Sharing food was a symbolic act of acceptance and one would know they were not welcome if food was not offered immediately upon meeting. Here they seem not to practice anything to bring them all together. They would line up in the breadline during eating time and then break off to their own groups. They were merely a collection of people, not a community and he was at a loss why they expected him to lead them. 

The sky was overcast and the clouds hung heavy and dark, threatening sleet and there was not anything interesting to do with this soggy morning. He decided to get his bearings and spend it on looking at the town he was directed to manage.

The frenzy on him as the Herald seemed to have died down but still, he was not used to it. Instead of crowding to stare at him, the people murmur “Your Worship,” as he walked past them. Always, he put his head down and murmured some unintelligible answer as he hurried away. Their looks still linger but it was easy to ignore it now when they were not blocking his path to gawk.

He met the quartermaster across the Chantry, who mistook him for a servant, the stable master to the side of the gate who expressed his gratitude for persuading the horse master in the Hinterlands to send horses for them and made his stables full of the graceful beasts instead of the old, thin ones they piteously had. Then he met the apothecary up the other side of Haven who assisted Solas in ensuring his survival after he emerged from the Breach. All of them clamored for help from him; more ores and timber, more horses or supplies of herbs. They seem to see him merely as a provider; they were so assured of his allegiance they never considered otherwise. 

While talking to the apothecary, he saw Solas standing on one side of the huts. The elf mage was staring into the Breach, a hand under his chin, deep in thought, his grey eyes bright from the light above shining on them. 

He emerged from the cabin with some instructions by the apothecary to find some documents. Even deep in winter, the elvhen mage was wearing a thin linen tunic over thin leggings. His head was bare as always as was his feet, despite the snow on the ground.

He felt like approaching him. Perhaps he was lonely for companionship from a fellow elf. The people around him seemed unable to understand him except as some figure of their imagination, even the city elves. They had adopted too much of the human culture that they were indistinguishable to humans in his eyes. They were equally alien to him as the humans. 

But Solas has a different air about him. He wasn’t subservient like the city elves and carried a self-assurance like a Dalish, except he had no vallaslin. What saved him from being turned out of Haven was his knowledge about the Breach than anyone. If he wasn’t so useful, they would have bound him, for being an elf and also an apostate during a war between apostates and templars. For his part, Solas did not give more than what was required, aloof to everyone around him and never tried to mingle in their activities. 

Solas was odd like him and he didn’t seem to care. Eanil almost envied his freedom, because he wasn’t compelled to be pleasant to those he disliked. 

He hesitated at the doorway, then approached the elven mage. 

Solas noticed his presence and turned around to face him. “The chosen of Andraste,” he greeted warmly. “A blessed hero sent to save us all.”

Eanil smiled. “You make me sound dashing when you say it like that.”

“Every great war has its heroes. I'm just curious what kind you'll be." He drew himself straighter, putting his arms behind him. "So, what do I owe this visit?”

“I haven’t really thanked you properly for saving my life.” By habit, he adopted an air of deference to the elder elf, like a young tree bowing before an old one. 

“I do not mind. I am content to perform a service. Besides Cassandra demanded results and I would not be standing here comfortably if I hadn’t.”

“Of course she did,” he said, unconsciously touching his neck rubbed raw when she grabbed his collar during the interrogation. Then he remembered he did not come here to ask about the Seeker. “Can I ask something?”

“Of course.”

“You study the Fade, right? Can you tell me about it?”

Solas smiled and told him about the Fade, spirits and demons. He kept asking and Solas was happy to oblige. He talked about sleeping in ruins, the Veil, the Breach and elven magic. When he fell silent, thinking about what he just learned, he accidentally looked up and caught Solas peering at him curiously.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“No. I am only surprised. Only you of the Dalish had shown such eagerness to know what I’ve learned in my travels. Most would have called me a flat-ear and mocked my stories, then go back to their ruins.”

“Why? Have you met another Dalish other than me?”

Solas' chin drew higher slightly. “I approached a clan once. I have tried to tell them what I knew, but they would not listen. They would prefer their own stories. They are children, acting out stories misheard and repeated a thousand times while they pass on stories, mangling details. I’ve seen things they have not.”

“From your journeys into the Fade?”

The mage hesitated. “Yes.”

He fell silent for a moment, remembering the gathering of clans and his mother telling him that some of their past may have been witnessed by Fade spirits. Any of their mages might learn something from them if only the demons mind their own business, she griped. 

But he took slight offense at Solas glibly dismissing his people by treating them like children. They suffered so long and endured so much to deserve this treatment. “They don’t trust outsiders easily, particularly someone who does not wear clan marks,” he said with a pointed look at the mage’s bare face.

Solas’ face grew hard; there was a slight turning down of the corner of his lips. “That was what I’m referring to,” he said quietly, “the Dalish are ignorant of the true purpose of their relics.”

Eanil stood straighter; he was visibly offended now. Solas saw his frown and made a conciliatory smile. “Ah, forgive me; I seem to have caused offense,” he said, the smile not reaching his eyes which remained stony, “but I did not visit them purely to question their knowledge. I was also concerned about their well-being. You’ve been with them recently. Have they been well?”

His hackles died down although he remained on his guard. “Yes.”

“No outbreak of strange maladies? Or any hereditary affliction?”

He frowned, this time in confusion, and shook his head. What was he getting at? “Nothing that I knew.”

“Ah. Just the difficulty of producing each generation, then.”

“Why would you be interested in that?”

“Have you ever thought about what it meant when there are few of you born for every generation?”

“Yes. There’d be few of us,” he said with a look of confusion at the mage. It was common-sensical knowledge; why would Solas need to ask that?

Solas smiled as if he was a child who can only grasp simple ideas. “Thank you for indulging my interest. I wish to return the favor. If I offer any understanding, you only have to ask.”


	8. Chapter 8

A few days later, the Herald together with Varric, Cassandra and Solas went to Val Royeaux to address the remaining clerics. The entrance to the city was through an avenue with statues on both sides. Statues of important people, no doubt, Eanil thought as they walked on the cobbled street. Curiously, the statues' poses were turned away, hands over their faces in…embarrassment? He went to take a closer look and was immediately hit with a repulsive smell.

“Varric, I think I smell…piss?” he asked, quickly putting a hand over his nose as he looked at the darkened patch on the base of the statues. 

The dwarf chuckled behind him. “Smelled that, didn’t you? You see the statues? They carved them like that because people keep using them as a privy. It was started by some kid empress but now it’s kind of a tradition whenever people arrive in this city.”

“So should I piss on it too?”

“No!” was Cassandra’s horrified reaction.

They moved on, passing the exquisitely wrought gates, and stepped inside the city. 

He had never been at Val Royeaux and now that he had, he thought he had never before seen a city like it. Banners hung from before gilded doors, and colorful cloths were strung overhead. The buildings had walls made of blinding white stone and topped with bright blue roofs. A fountain played merrily in the center of the square; its lip gilded and held up by golden lions. Its citizens flit in and out the cozy shops like butterflies with their colorful clothes and their intricate masks. Val Royeaux was reminiscent of a cake: dainty, pretty, and ultimately unfulfilling.

They saw a crowd gathering in the square facing a scaffold with a Chantry Mother atop it. She was preaching to the crowd with her sisters behind her nodding along. As usual of her ilk, she was telling the people not to lose faith, and be strong in this time of deep trouble.

"There's Mother Beatrice, I think," Cassandra said, craning her head. "We should get closer." She pushed through the crowd to make way for the rest. 

Varric looked uneasily at the people around them and said, "Does the Chantry always have a crowd around?"

"What is it again, Varric?" Cassandra asked wearily.

The dwarf thought for a moment and shrugged. "Probably nothing," he answered. 

They pushed through until they were in front of the platform. The Chantry Mother then stopped her sermon when she caught sight of them. Her lips became pinched as she looked at them under drawn brows. Her tone changed like a cold wind blowing.

“Good people of Val Royeaux,” she called the crowd's attention with her sonorous voice, “together, we mourn the Divine. Her naive and beautiful heart silenced by treachery. You wonder of her murder. Wonder no more.” She gestured toward him and the crowd craned their heads around to them. “Behold the one they call the Herald of Andraste, daring to stand where she stood! This is a false prophet. The Maker would send no elf in our hour of need.”

At her words the people grumbled, their eyes like daggers at them.

“Uh, Seeker, I think this is our cue to go?” Varric said to Cassandra, nervously looking at the people murmuring mutinously around them.

Cassandra scoffed. “Nonsense, Varric. We will stay on our ground, not run like dogs with tails behind their legs.” Before the people turned completely against them, Cassandra addressed the cleric. “We are not your enemy, Mother. The Inquisition only wants to end this madness. We must unite.”

The Mother opened her mouth to answer when they heard marching steps. Turning to the side, they saw a column of Templars drawing near. Some of the people murmured approvingly at them as they passed. But the Templars ignored them all and walked towards the platform, where Mother smiled at them in welcome. “The Templars have returned,” she proclaimed. “They will stop this inquisition and protect the people once more!”

Lord Seeker Lucius, a tall, hard-looking man, with red-rimmed grey eyes and pasty skin, walked up the platform. The Mother eyed him in rapture but before she could speak again, his hand flew out and socked her. She went down amidst the gasps of the people. A young Templar, with bright green eyes and a face as dark as a Northerner, rushed forward to help her up but a look from the Lord Seeker stopped him. “Still yourself. She is beneath us,” Lord Lucius told him. The Templar looked uncertainly at the cleric then at the Lord Seeker. Then he stepped back, letting the Mother groan in pain alone.

Among the shocked crowd, Cassandra was first to react. “Lord Seeker? What is the meaning of this?” she demanded. 

The Lord Seeker turned to look down at her. “You will not address me. Your claim to authority is an insult like hers,” he replied, pointing at the cleric half-lying on the floor, a hand over her bleeding mouth. “Creating a heretical movement and raising a puppet, you should be ashamed.” He looked over her to the crowd and addressed them. “You should all be ashamed! The templars failed no one when they left the Chantry to purge the mages. If you came here, seeking protection and help the Chantry, you are a fool. The only thing that demands respect is mine.”

“If you’re not going to help, why are you here then? Aside from punching old women?” Varric asked.

“I came to see what they fear and _laugh_ ,” the Lord Seeker replied, “but punching them will have to do.” He turned to his Templars. “Come! This city is unworthy of our protection. The Chantry has shown me nothing and this Inquisition?” He turned to them with a sneer, “Less than nothing. I will make the Templar order the only thing that stands against the Void. We march!” 

He led the Templars through the crowd and out of the city,  the people parting before them in fear.

When they were gone, the crowd erupted in hysterics, unable to accept that their only hope of protection was gone. Meanwhile, Eanil fought his way forward to the platform and tried to help the Mother up, but she slapped his hand away. “Don’t touch me!” she shouted at him.

Cassandra and Varric had caught up to him and stood on both his sides. When she saw the Seeker, the Mother glared at her, in anger and pain. “This victory must please you, Cassandra.”

Cassandra shook her head. “It was not our doing,” she said sadly. “It was not our aim for the templars to abandon the Chantry. We wished you to join us, but not this way.”

“Is it? Am I to believe that you have no part in forcing our hand? Do not delude yourself,” she scoffed. “Now we have been shown up by our own templars in front of everyone. And my fellow clerics have scattered to the wind, along with their convictions.”

“We did not intend this. We would not have you join us unwillingly.”

The mother needed a moment to think that through. When she had now comprehended the reality of the Templar’s betrayal, and thus the final dissolution of the Chantry’s authority, her pride was overcome and she broke down. “Tell me, are you the Maker’s chosen as so many have claimed?” she croaked at Eanil.

“What makes it so hard for you to accept that he might be?” Varric asked her. 

“We are not looking for the winning horse. We are simply doing the right thing.” She looked up to the clear sky, hoping for an omen. “Andraste help us, if we are wrong.”

* * *

They had only gotten a promise from the Mother that they would inform them of their decision to either support the Inquisition or hope for something else. In the meantime, she pledged to stop either confirming or denying whether he was the Herald as they convened with the other clerics. Or calling them heretics unofficially.

“That’s as good as we’re gonna get,” Varric commented as they walked away from the platform. “It could’ve been worse.”

“What are you implying?” Cassandra asked him.

Varric gestured to their surroundings, at the raised platform and the people gathered who were reluctantly scattering. “Are you blind, Seeker? Or you didn’t see the scaffold and the mob around us? If the pitchforks weren’t missing, we could be burning at the stake already.”

Cassandra sighed. “Are you trying to pick a fight again, Varric?” she asked wearily.

“I’m just pointing out the obvious since someone isn’t doing their job right. Look, I’m glad we walked out of there with our heads attached, but maybe your people should check first to see if we’re walking into an ambush, even if we’re meeting people from the Chantry?”

She scoffed. “You think the Chantry is capable of making traps for people?”

“Sadly, it ends badly for them. The last one ended with an arrow through her head.”

She rounded on him. “I can’t believe you’re accusing the Chantry of acting like common thugs!”

“How can’t I when I’m walking around with one?”

As Cassandra chased Varric around them, Solas sighed. “Now you’re both acting like children,” he scolded. 

“Sorry, Mother. But she started it,” the dwarf answered, ducking out of the Seeker’s arm.

“You little-”

What Cassandra was going to say was forgotten when an arrow suddenly buried itself next to her feet. They immediately stopped bickering, drew out their weapons, their backs to each other and looked around for the archer among the crowd. But it was impossible; there were too many to watch and their drawn weapons only served to increase the tension around them. The people stopped their hysterical wandering and looked warily at their exposed weapons. 

“We’d better put our weapons away. It’s making people nervous,” Varric suggested. Cassandra nodded, their quarrel forgotten and plucked the arrow off the ground. She unfolded the piece of paper tied to it. “What’s this? An arrow with a message?” She read it aloud. It told them to follow the clues left behind if they wanted help. After they finished reading, Varric shook his head and said, “They may be serious or else screwing with us.”

“At any rate, we cannot ignore this. If someone’s trying to kill us, we must find out,” Cassandra said and pocketed the note.

They again tried to hurry away from the square and back to Haven when a man in the servant's livery stopped them. “Excuse me, serrah. Are you the one they call the Herald of Andraste?” he asked Eanil. 

“Yes?” he said, both as an answer and a question. He peeked at the manservant's bare face, but his feelings were as hidden as if he wore the mask Orlais was famous for. 

The man bowed and rose. “There’s a message for you,” he said and handed an ornately decorated envelope to him. Eanil opened it and found a letter inside. He drew out the letter and a fragrance with a light perfume of embrium mixed with black lotus wafted to his nose. He read aloud an invitation to a salon from Viviene, Court Enchanter to the Empress.

“An official invitation. That’s the best thing we’ve ever had in this city, ” Varric said, visibly relaxing.

“I did not recognize the livery at first,” Cassandra said, with a glance at the servant, who was wearing a light purple tunic and tights. “But I know of her. She is Empress Celene’s court mage. Everyone calls her Madame de Fer.”

“Madame de Fer?” Eanil repeated. 

“It means ‘Iron Lady’. She has risen high in the Orlesian court, something no mage has ever done in many years,” Cassandra said, her lip curling. “I think we should go to this salon. I do not know what she might ask of us, but she commands influence among the nobles and the Empress' court. As a host, she can hardly make a trap for us in one of her parties.”

The man coughed. “Excuse me, but the invitation is only for Master Lavellan.”

“Should’ve known the peasants were not invited,” Varric said without thinking as Cassandra fumed at the man. A second passed, then he covered his mouth and said to her, “I meant Solas and me. But this Madame de Fer must be very high up so as not to give an invitation even to a  _ Pentaghast _ .”

The Seeker grew outraged at his insinuation of her royal connection. “That is not it! You think I will allow this…..glorified mage to show around the Herald as if he is a new toy for her guests to play with? The Inquisition has a sacred duty to fulfill and the Herald is not a person her kind can make into an object of mockery. ”

“So what are you gonna do? Bash the doors open to let you in like a barbarian they think we are?”

“This is not funny, Varric," she warned. 

“I’m going to be fine, Cassandra,” Eanil said, trying to reassure her. “We need people right? And you said she has some connections with the nobles. She might be able to help us.”

Curiously, the two stopped bickering and exchanged a look with each other. “Alright, kid,” Varric said, rubbing a hand to his temple, “but promise us you’re not going to do silly things just because people ask you.”

“And keep moving around the room, talk little to anyone until you meet her,” Cassandra advised. They said many more things about how to act around Orlesians until his head spun and dragged him into shops to get measured and have something tailored and expensive to wear. 

Without anyone knowledgeable around who was willing to offer a third option, Varric and Cassandra quarreled on the clothes he should wear while he and Solas waited in the marble and gilt lobbies of the shops, trying not to glance guiltily at the shop owners who were watching them all with heavy lidded eyes.

Cassandra said she had experience in Orlesian parties but when she brought out her choices, Varric mocked her taste, calling every one of it gaudy. Cassandra shot back that he had no right to call out people’s taste while wearing an outfit with his chest exposed and a slit down to his Golden City.

Not really. Just to the gate but it’s just as enticing. 

“Slit down what?” Varric asked, hands on hips, his stance increasing the spread of the slit further and showing off a chest as broad as the Hinterlands with the mounds beneath peaking through like a path to the Frostback mountains. 

Cassandra’s cheeks reddened. It did not help that she towered over him so the slit exposed more to her than he intended. Her eyes shifted, like she wanted to look away but determined not to surrender. So she changed tack. “What is that supposed to be, a fur shirt?” she mocked at the thick patch of hair on his chest.

“Touche, Seeker. Didn’t expect you’d start to fight. I’ll have you know women all over the world, not just Orlais, love this so much they’d nearly faint on it.”

“Stop pawing at it!”

In the end, they settled on a double-breasted, red silk tunic with gold accents on the shoulders and tips and a deep blue sash across the chest and around the waist. Its design evoked the military and so was safe. The order was hardly one that cared about fashion and no one would call them out on it.

When they thought he was sufficiently prepared, they saw him off to the gilded gate of Madame de Fer's residence.

“Is he going to be alright?” Varric asked, looking at him worriedly as he walked further away from them and towards the nest of vipers.

“Maker help us,” Cassandra replied.


	9. Chapter 9

Eanil regretted it as soon as he entered the residence of Madame Viviene.

It was not because of the place. It was very pretty actually, with marble floors and gold gilding on white walls, the ceiling arching up and painted over with pictures of frolicking animals, lions prominent among them. It was the people.

He emerged on a landing and looked up to see guests on the balconies. Beside him, a servant stood before the stairs leading to a dance floor above to announce to everyone the newest visitor to the party.

"Master Eanilanon Lavellan, The Herald of Andraste, leader of the Inquisition."

As soon as they heard his name, the other guests stopped whispering with each other to look at him. He felt their eyes on him as he walked forward, feeling more and more out of place with the richly attired guests, wearing fanciful hats and even more fanciful masks. They did not stare, but he can hear them talking about him even though they were not directly looking at him. And what he heard was not flattering.

He walked up to the main floor feeling smaller and smaller with every step under their gaze.

All of them reminded him of a menagerie, full of dangerous animals where, beneath the soft furs, the vibrant feathers and the glittering scales, talons will whisk, fangs will bare and fins will swipe if he made just one wrong move. He reached the top of the steps and walked forward. They parted before him but did not move to welcome him. He walked among them as if walking among a pack, trying to show that he was not afraid of them and bluff them into not attacking. Curiously, the vallaslin on his face burned on his skin and he felt like he had a mask on as they do. Only, the mask was proudly showing them his heritage. He hoped that the vallaslin, its design with roots sprouting on his chin leading to a line cutting through his lips and nose like slender trunk to spread on his cheeks and forehead like a verdant crown, would protect him like the tree it was inspired on. 

His ploy did not succeed completely, for he saw at the corner of his eye one of them broke away from his pack and headed towards him. He could not tell who he was, for he was masked in silver. The fine material of his doublet flashed in scarlet, the silver trims winking with every step above the white pants.

“So you’re from the Inquisition? What a load of pigshit,” the stranger said loudly, walking down the stairs to stand in front of him. “Washed up sisters and crazed Seekers? No one can take them seriously. Everyone knows it’s just a bunch of political outcasts to grab power,” he sneered. The crowd murmured their opinions but not one raised their voice. Beneath their masks, their eyes glittered with anticipation at witnessing the Game. It was the Game, they were sure of it, for no one without provocation would dare be rude to another one’s guest in their own house. They stood, making no move to intercede, eager as spectators at bear-baiting.

He was not aware of this, where the fates of entire houses were decided in the ballroom and power was acquired through witty repartee. He could only answer humbly, “We’re just trying to restore peace and order in Thedas,” as Varric and Cassandra coached earlier.

The stranger smirked. “So says the outsider, restoring peace with an army.” The crowd tittered at his quip.

“We’re also searching for the people behind the explosion of the Conclave and the death of Divine Justinia,” he said, glancing with worry on the crowd rapidly turning against him.

“Of course you are. I’m sure your army is scouring the hills for the murderer as we speak,” the stranger said drily. The crowd’s laughter became louder this time.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“Ran out of excuses, have you?" he taunted. "In front of all these people, you show that you are nothing but a pretentious usurper.” He stepped forward, bringing his masked face closer to him, the eyes on the holes sharp and...curiously desperate. “We know what your inquisition truly is. If you are a man of honor, you will step outside and answer the charges.”

The crowd waited with bated breath, anticipating his response. If he did not say something to get out of it soon, it will be the end of him ever being treated seriously again. If he took him at his word, they would all know who truly was the master.

Then the stranger froze.

“My dear Marquis, How unkind of you to use such language in my house…to my guests,” a dark-skinned woman said, holding one hand aloft, a swirl of ice shimmering around it, as she descended leisurely down the stairs. She was wearing a mask of silver that covered her eyes and a white bodice with a deep cleft that showed much of her bosom. An exaggerated collar draped her shoulders to show off her slender neck. Her outfit was completed with slim-fitting white pants and a hat resembling horns made of dark silver. “You know such rudeness is intolerable,” she purred and stood between them.

The stranger let out a peep of fear. “Madame Viviene, I humbly beg your pardon,” he stuttered, still frozen in place.

“You should. Whatever am I going to do with you, my dear?” she asked the man before turning towards him. “My lord, you are the wounded party in this unfortunate affair. What would you have to do with this man?”

Despite his treatment of him, he felt only pity for him. Besides, by the way he answered the Maquis' challenge, it certainly became apparent to him that he knew little of what was going on. “It’s up to you.”

She did not waste any time. “Poor Marquis. Issuing challenges and hurling insults like a Ferelden dog lord,” she said, showing him how the Game was done and waved her hand at the noble. The noble coughed as soon as he was freed. She put a hand on her hips as she looked at him up and down. “And all dressed up in your Aunt Solange’s doublet. Didn’t she give you that to wear to the Gran Tourney?’ she mocked. “To think all the great chevaliers who will be competing left for Markham this morning and you’re still here. Were you hoping to save your damaged pride by engaging the Herald of Andraste in a duel? Or did you think his sword would end the shame of your failure?”

The noble could only bow his head in shame.

“Run along my dear,” she said, waving him away as if she was bored with him. “Do give my regards to your aunt.”

The Marquis left them without another word. The crowd dispersed too as the tension in the air dissipated, satisfied with the ending. Especially because they did not expect its resolution to come from another quarter and also satisfied because of the impression that this upstart power can be persuaded to give control to one of them. 

He did not notice that, because Viviene turned to him immediately. “I’m delighted you could attend this gathering. I’ve so wanted to meet you.” She nodded upstairs and he followed her into one of the rooms as richly furnished as the hall below. She introduced herself and stated her purpose in inviting him. “I want to meet face to face. It is important to consider one’s connections carefully. With the death of Divine Justinia, the faithful flock to your banner, pinning their hopes on you to deliver them from chaos. As the leader of the last loyal mages, I feel only right to lend you my assistance to your cause.” She offered her connections to the Orlesian court, the resources of the Circle and herself as a powerful mage. He asked questions regarding how specifically she can use her resources and she answered in such a way as to offer everything but actually promise nothing. But he didn’t know that yet.

“What do you get out of this?” he asked. The last few days cured him of the naivety of thinking anyone would help out of their own good heart.

She smiled a little at his skepticism and also his unpolished and therefore, by Orlesian rules of propriety, rude way of asking intentions. “The same as anyone gets by fighting this chaos: the chance to meet my enemy, to decide my fate. I won’t wait quietly for destruction.”

He looked doubtfully at her. She was still vague. He knew enough things were never simple for these Orlesians as he had seen with the Marquis. But, whatever her aims were, she did help him against the Marquis. And they really have no other volunteers.

He accepted her offer. She beamed at his answer and shook his hand. “Great things are beginning, my dear. I can promise you that,” she said, eyes bright on a prize she knew she had no problem getting.

* * *

Later that night, they went to the alley where the letter-sender told them to meet up. When they arrived, it was deserted.

"You sure this is the place?" Varric asked them, glancing at the bare walls of the alley in shadow, as if expecting a door to appear there. Nothing else stirred; the night was silent, only broken by the soft swoops of an owl's wings as it catches unsuspecting prey. 

"The last letter was explicitly clear," Cassandra said, looking around irritably. While the Herald visited Vivienne, the three of them went on a hunt following clues their mysterious contact wrote in their cryptic letters. She did not enjoy walking around in the hot afternoon in armor after a ridiculous stunt, preferring very much that their contact just met them directly. Her way was honest and direct, if sometimes blunt, and she would have liked it better if other people show her the same courtesy. 

"Look, there's a door at the other end of this alley," Solas said, nodding to their side. They saw it too and, exchanging a look, they decided to check it. Eanil led them there and opened it.

Fireballs suddenly shot out. He dodged out the way, letting the fireball travel unstopped, heading for Cassandra. She shrieked in surprise but put up her shield in time and the fireball bounced to Varric. He lifted his shoulder, cursing, and it bounced to Solas who put his barrier up quickly. There was much cursing tinged with the smell of burned hair, and they looked beyond the doors to the instigator with anger.

“ ‘Erald of ANdraste,” the stranger said who was standing in an empty square, bathed in moonlight. He was wearing a simple mask and a headdress that looks like a bread roll on top of his head and smaller rolls on the shoulders of his purple and silver silk doublet, smooth as fondant, with buttons bright as candy. It seemed they were not what he expected, for he stopped crouching and stood straight like a dancer, puffing out his chest and with a foot pointed out forward daintily. “How much did you expend to discover me? It surely must have weakened the Inquisition immeasurably.”

Eanil looked at him and found he could not remember him. At least, he doesn't seem to be in the party at Lady Vivienne. The mask was not helping. He turned to his companions in defeat. “Do any of you know him? And what is he saying?”

“I have never seen that man before,” Cassandra said.

“No idea who he is,” Varric grumbled, dusting the soot off his coat. “And if we paid money to find him, surely Ruffles would have said something to us?”

“I think we just met him today. Is he important?” Solas asked, putting away his barrier.

The man stared at him then at the three of them. “Don’t fool me! I’m too important for this to be an accident!” he said indignantly. He stood to his full height as he said, in a voice to salvage his wounded pride, “My efforts will survive in victories against you elsewhere.”

They stared at him as if he was a madman, then suddenly, a cry of pain pierced the air. They turned to the side and saw a guard stagger towards them, an arrow in his chest. Then he fell, revealing an elf girl behind him, a bow drawn in her hands and the arrow pointed at the masked man. “Just say what,” she said to him.

“What is the-”

The arrow went through his mouth. The man choked, his throat torn, then he fell down, dead.

“Ugh!” the stranger said, moving forward to retrieve the arrow. “Squishy ones, but you heard me right. Just say what. Rich tits always try more than they deserve.” She knelt beside the dead man and started pulling the arrow out its mouth. “Blah-blah-blah! Obey me! Arrow in my face!” she said, freeing the arrow with a squish. She cleaned off the blood and put it back in her quiver, before facing them.

“So you followed the notes well enough. Glad to see you’re-” Her eyes widened at the sight of him then her face crumpled in dislike. “Aannnd you’re an elf. Well, I hope you’re not too elfy.” Before Eanil could ask how anyone can be too elfy, she quickly said, “I mean it’s all good, innit? The important things is you glow. You’re the Herald of Andraste thingy?”

“I glow?”

She grinned. “That’s what you do, innit? You walked out of somewhere and now you glow. Andraste’s Herald. True or not, it’s the easiest way to know it was you.”

Someone should have told the clerics that. He rubbed his head, confused about the absurdity of this all. “Now you know me, who are you? And who’s that?” he said, pointing at the body before them.

She looked at the corpse then shrugged. “No idea. I don’t know this idiot from manners. I was just told by my people that they should look at him.”

He looked at her closely. Her hair was cut oddly, with bangs sheared high and uneven. Her face was bare, bearing no vallaslin and she was wearing a sort of leather vest over a shirt that bared her shoulders and tight, yellow plaid pants that reached only mid-calf. Her speech was unlike any he heard someone of a clan speak, too fast and with an unintelligible accent. “Your people? You mean other elves?”

“Pfft. No, People-people. I’m Sera and this is cover, get around it,” she said, pointing at the statue behind her. When he just looked at her with a puzzled expression, she explained. “For the reinforcements. Don’t worry, someone tipped me their equipment shed.” She went closer to him and whispered, “They’ve got no breeches!”

“No what?!” Cassandra asked as they drew their weapons. It did not take long to find out. Half-naked guards emerged from the shadows and started fighting them.

“Andraste’s tits! Why are your bits hanging out?” Varric asked as he nailed one with his bow.

“Don’t use the Prophet’s name to blaspheme, Varric!” Cassandra shouted as she thrust her sword through another.

“Easy for you to say. Their bits aren’t level with your face!”

The archer started laughing like a maniac as they fought. With the guards wearing half their equipment, it wasn’t long before they were done with them.

“Friends really came through. No breeches,” Sera said and cackled. They only glared at her. She saw they did not join her in the joke and sobered. “So, Herald of Andraste. You’re a strange one. I’d like to join,” she said to him.

“You need to make sense first,” Eanil said.

She grinned apologetically then tittered nervously. Then she stopped and cleared her throat. “Well, it’s like this. I send you a note to look for hidden stuff by my friends. The Friends of Red Jenny. That’s me.” She told them about the other members of her group, whose aim seemed to cause trouble for nobles they don’t like. She offered to help them through her contacts as well as her skill as an archer. Or so she said. She’s so very confusing.

Eanil took a moment to process this. “So you’re offering….spies?”

She made a little sound of irritation. “Here’s how it is. You “important people” are up here, shoving your cods around. Blah-blahblah, I’ll crush you, I’ll crush you-” She mimed kissing, with a wet sound while they just stared at her. “Ohhhh, crush youuuuuuu.”

They kept staring so she cleared her throat. “Uhm. Then you’ve got…All those people and what gave them up? Some servant boy knowing little but knowing a bad guy when he sees one. So no, I’m not Captain Shivface, all cloaky. But if you don’t listen down here too, you risk their breeches. Like those guards I stole their-look, do you need people or not? I want everything back to normal, like you?”

He didn’t know what to make of her. And her changing her topics quickly was not helping him understand. So he turned around to the others. “What do the rest of you think?”

“I don’t know, she’s mad but I think she means well?” Varric said and looked at her with doubt.

“Good intentions do not always mean a good outcome,” Solas said, frowning at the elf girl.

“We came here to find help, even if we find it from…unexpected places,” Cassandra said, though looking not too sure about that.

He mulled over this. She puzzled him, true, but she was handy with the bow and enthusiastic about helping them. What was that human saying again? Oh! It's ‘the thought that counts.' 

“Well, Sera, you and your friends are welcome to the Inquisition,” he decided.

The elf threw her arms in the air. “Yes! Get in big before you’re too big to lie. That’ll keep your breeches where they should be,” the elf said wisely. 

As they headed back to Haven with her in tow, he made a mental note to put his breeches in a much more secure location. 

* * *

The next day, the Inquisition went to the stables outside the city, waiting on the horses to be prepared for their journey back to Haven. They had long ago decided that Sera, being an inexperienced rider, would be riding pillion with Cassandra, which made the elf strangely giddy.

They were quietly talking about themselves on the division of their packages when they heard the clattering of horse hooves approaching and turned to look. A handsome coach was coming up the road driven by a pretty team of horses. The carriage was very stylish and understated, painted dark purple with only a coat of arms on the door as its decoration. The horses were dark, sleek and cantered prettily in their harnesses which made them suddenly aware of their sturdy but rather dumpy-looking horses beside them.

As they gaped at it, it suddenly stopped right in front of them. The footman jumped down from his perch, walked to the door and opened it, releasing a lovely perfume which for a moment, made them forget about the dung and horse-sweat smelling stable. Inside the lush, silk cushioned interior sat Viviene.

“My dear Herald, I thought you had departed early. But, nevermind. Might I have the pleasure of your company for the rest of the journey?” she asked the Herald, patting the seat softly beside her. 

“Uhm,” he glanced around and caught Varric’s eye. He motioned for him to go on. “Sure, I think.”

He was about to go in when a cloaked figure watched them from the shadows then darted forward. “If I might have a moment of your time,” she asked him, her voice deep. She removed her hood and Cassandra gasped. “Grand Enchanter Fiona?” 

Despite her age, Fiona still looked young, with bright green eyes among her small features. The tips of her ears protruded from her clipped, dark hair.

Viviene climbed out of the carriage to meet her. “My dear, Fiona. It’s been so long since we last spoke. You look dreadful,” she said, greeting her like a friend not long seen, but sounding a touch overly-concerned. “Are you sleeping well?”

“Not so loud, Madame Viviene,” Fiona whispered, drawing her cloak tighter around her and glancing around them. 

“I'M. VERY. SORRY,” Vivienne said, stressing each word with her voice still as loud as before. “I suppose the leader of the mage rebellion doesn’t want to be seen. Understandable, of course,” she said, with a quick up and down look at Fiona’s drab and run-down outfit.

Fiona gave her an annoyed look and turned away to face the Herald. “I heard about this gathering. And I want to see the fabled Herald of Andraste himself.”

He spread his arms. “Well, here I am.”

“If its help with the Breach you seek, perhaps you should consider the mages.”

“One moment,” Cassandra interrupted, her dark eyes regarding the enchanter under brows drawn together. “You were supposed to be at the Conclave and yet somehow you have avoided death."

Fiona met her stare levelly. “As did the Lord Seeker. Both of us sent negotiators on our behalf in case it was a trap. I wouldn’t pretend to be glad I’m alive, but many of my friends died that day. It disgusts me to think the Templars would get away with it. I’m hoping you won’t let them.”

“You think the Templars did it?” Eanil asked.

“Why wouldn’t she?” Cassandra said, crossing her arms.

“ _Lucius_ seems hardly broken up with his losses,” Fiona answered her, using the Lord Seeker’s name familiarly and without his title. “Is he concerned about them at all? You know him,” she said to Cassandra. “You know he is quite capable of killing the Divine to turn the people against us.” A sliver of doubt crossed Cassandra’s face which made her smirk. She turned back to him with a little triumph in her voice. “So yes, I think he did it more than I think you did it.”

“So you’re going to help us?” Eanil asked. 

“We are willing to discuss it at least. Consider this an invitation to Redcliffe.” She pulled her hood over her head and drew her cloak around her. “Au revoir, Herald,” she said and walked away, blending in the crowd until she was out of their sight.

They stood looking at the place where she disappeared. “Well, at least there’s someone out here who believes you’re innocent,” Varric said helpfully.


	10. Chapter 10

The next day, the Inquisition went to the stables outside the city and waited for the horses to be prepared for their journey. They had long ago decided that Sera, being an inexperienced rider, would ride pillion with Cassandra, and this agreement made the elf strangely giddy.

They were quietly talking about themselves on the division of their packages when they heard the clattering of horse hooves approaching and turned to look. A handsome coach was coming up the avenue from the city, driven by a pretty team of horses. The carriage was very stylish and understated, painted dark purple with only a coat of arms on the door as its decoration. The horses were dark, sleek and cantered prettily in their harnesses which made them suddenly aware of their sturdy but rather dumpy-looking horses.

As they gaped at it, it suddenly stopped right in front of them. The footman jumped down from his perch, walked to the door and opened it, releasing a lovely perfume which for a moment, made them forget about the dung and horse-sweat smelling stable. Inside the lush, silk cushioned interior sat Viviene.

“My dear Herald, I thought you had departed early. But, nevermind. Might I have the pleasure of your company for the rest of the journey?” she asked the Herald, patting the seat softly beside her. 

“Uhm,” he glanced around and caught Varric’s eye. He motioned for him to go on. “Sure, I think.”

He was about to go in when a cloaked figure watched them from the shadows then darted forward. “If I might have a moment of your time,” she asked him, her voice deep. She removed her hood and Cassandra gasped. “Grand Enchanter Fiona?” 

Despite her position and age, Fiona still looked young, with bright green eyes among her small features. The tips of her ears protruded from her clipped, dark hair.

Viviene climbed out of the carriage to meet her. “My dear, Fiona. It’s been so long since we last spoke. You look dreadful,” she said, greeting her like a friend not long seen, but sounding a touch overly-concerned. “Are you sleeping well?”

“Not so loud, Madame Viviene,” Fiona whispered, drawing her cloak tighter around her and glancing around them. 

“I’m.Very.Sorry,” Vivienne said, her voice still as loud as before. “I suppose the leader of the mage rebellion doesn’t want to be seen. Understandable, of course,” she said, with a quick up and down look at Fiona’s drab and run-down outfit.

Fiona gave her an annoyed look and turned away to face the Herald. “I heard about this gathering. And I want to see the fabled Herald of Andraste himself.”

He spread his arms. “Well, here I am.”

“If its help with the Breach you seek, perhaps you should consider the mages.”

“One moment,” Cassandra interrupted, her dark eyes looking sharply at the enchanter. “You were supposed to be at the Conclave and yet somehow you have avoided death."

Fiona met her stare levelly. “As did the Lord Seeker. Both of us sent negotiators on our behalf in case it was a trap. I wouldn’t pretend to be glad I’m alive, but many of my friends died that day. It disgusts me to think the Templars would get away with it. I’m hoping you won’t let them.”

“You think the Templars did it?” Eanil asked.

“Why wouldn’t she?” Cassandra said, crossing her arms.

“ _ Lucius _ seems hardly broken up with his losses,” Fiona answered her, using the Lord Seeker’s name familiarly and without his title. “Is he concerned about them at all? You know him,” she said to Cassandra. “You know he is quite capable of killing the Divine to turn the people against us.” A sliver of doubt crossed Cassandra’s face which made her smirk. She turned back to him with a little triumph in her voice. “So yes, I think he did it more than I think you did it.”

“So you’re going to help us?” Eanil asked. 

“We are willing to discuss it at least. Consider this an invitation to Redcliffe.” She pulled her hood over her head and drew her cloak around her. “Au revoir, Herald,” she said and walked away, blending in the crowd until she was out of their sight.

They stood looking at the place where she disappeared. “Well, at least there’s someone out here who believes you’re innocent,” Varric said helpfully.

* * *

A week later, they were back at Haven's council chamber as soon as they were rested and discussed the appearance of Fiona at Val Royeaux. When they told them of Fiona’s accusations regarding the Divine’s death, Cullen shook his head vehemently. “This is obviously an attempt to pin the Divine’s murder on the templars. Why else would she say that with no other evidence other than the Lord Seeker’s absence in the Conclave? As we know, she did the same thing too. We can’t let her accusations stop us from getting help from the templars,” the ex-templar said hotly.

“The mages are much more willing to help us,” observed Josephine.

“And yet it doesn’t prove that she is right, or that we should ask the mages for help,” Cullen insisted.

As the three advisers bickered, the Herald’s head dipped in thoughtful silence as he stood before the war table, arms across his chest.

“Why do we have to choose between templars or mages?” Eanil asked aloud, cutting their arguments abruptly. “Does it have to be that one should be saved over the other and not both?”

They all looked at each other, unsure of how to answer him. They were used to thinking that only one that can be right, and no compromise can be reached. “Of course we should save as many as we can,” Cullen said slowly. “But brokering a peace between them is going to cost us time we can’t spare; time we need to stop the Breach from spreading wider.”

Eanil turned to the spymaster. “Do we know where the templars are, Leliana?”

“Yes. I have an agent follow the templars when they left Val Royeaux. They are hiding in a nearly forgotten fort, Therrinfal Redoubt,” she answered. 

“I can send some of my soldiers to reason with them, but I doubt it would produce any results,” Cullen said, rubbing his stubbled chin. They fell silent as they contemplated that both factions seemed to be troublesome.

“So which group should we go first?” Cassandra asked, her voice loud in the quiet room.

“I say we go for the templars,” Cullen suggested.

“I’m sorry, but don’t the mages know more about closing the breach since they have stronger connections to the Fade?” Eanil asked.

“The templars can do the same. They are after all trained in suppressing magic,” Cullen answered.

“So they can close the Breach with what-sheer willpower?”

“Very funny.”

“I’m not trying to be funny. I’m asking a serious question.”

Cullen thought for a moment. “I’m…sure the templars will think of something.”

Eanil turned to the table, sighed then looked at the map as he thought. 

He had only passing knowledge of the Mage-Templar war, only that both groups hate each other to kill on sight. He didn’t know about the grievances of the mages and the politics that started it all. Or the necessity of the Templar’s duty to curb mage freedom and supposedly their excesses. He only knew both of them as bandits and if he were to choose an ally between them, he would choose on the basis of their usefulness, not their aims. 

He made his decision. He raised his head and turned to the Commander. “I know the templars are important to you, Cullen. But I think the mages are of much more useful at closing the Breach. Though we had to get the templars on our side too. We have to stop them fighting mages with all these rifts open.”

Cullen bowed, reluctantly conceding and said, “As you wish Your Worship. But how do we know the mages really want to ally with us? We still have no proof that they weren’t involved in the Divine’s death.”

“We also don’t know if the templars are involved,” Leliana pointed out.

Lavellan thought about this for a while, his brow furrowed. “I don’t like this. I don’t like going somewhere without knowing how to get out.”

Cullen raised his brow at him. “You have reason to suspect the mages, Herald?” he asked.

“No. Just a habit. But we still aren’t sure if they are involved in the Divine’s death. I’m just taking precautions.”

Cullen nodded, approving his foresight. “Redcliffe is being watched. My soldiers cannot enter the village without raising the alarm.”

“The mages and the villagers are in need of something, yes? My spies can slip in with you as part of your entourage then blend after. They’ll watch for anything suspicious and send word should anything happen,” Leliana offered. “Also I have some maps of Redcliffe and I have some knowledge about the passages in the castle from my...travels.”

Cullen chuckled. “Now, Leliana. You don’t have to be modest about your time with the Wardens during the Fifth Blight,” he said to her. 

“You traveled with the Heroes of Ferelden?” Eanil asked. 

“Yes, that is correct,” she answered. “One of them was one of yours. A Dalish I mean.” 

Eanil looked wide-eyed at her. Of course, any elf would know  _ her  _ and want to know much about her. She was called by his elders to be the famous elvhen their generation will ever have.  __ “You’ve met her? How was she then?”

Leliana smiled, a rare occurrence and her face became wistful. “She was cold at first, but gradually she warmed up to us. The Blight was a terrible time but her level-headedness and reliability had brought us through it.” Her eyes roved over him but she was so well-trained, it was impossible to guess her thoughts from her blank face. “You remind me sometimes of her.”

The Herald decided he might like her after all. Even if she didn't say what reminded her was good or bad, the fact that he even slightly resembles _her_ just warmed his heart. 

Cullen cleared his throat to get them back on topic. “In the meantime, my soldiers will be at standby at the nearest camp ready for extraction should everything turn sour,” he assured him.

They ironed out the details of the plan until he was satisfied. “Then, let’s get the mages.”


	11. Chapter 11

“This isn’t a great idea after all,” the Herald said while trying not to sneeze. Water pelted his face, drenched his clothes and made him absolutely sure that he looked like a drowned rat.

Varric’s laughed echoed, just like the sound of waves crashing on the shore. “It’s a soggy place, isn’t it?”

He looked at the horizon. Even though the sun was up, they’re still being thoroughly drenched. The place might be a very pretty place for a picnic, where it not that it was constantly wet. They picked their way carefully down the slope, occasionally holding on to weeds to prevent themselves from tumbling down the slope. Maybe this was why some of their scouts disappeared here. They must have slipped and hit their head on the hard rocks that dotted the area.

They ended up here because when he walked out of the Chantry with Varric during a break in their council meetings, someone in front of the doors stood on their way and asked to talk to him. “I’m Cremisius Aclassi, representing a mercenary company called the Bull’s Chargers,” the stranger introduced himself. He was tanned with short red hair and wearing a complete set of armor, vambraces and all, which he nearly mistook as one of their soldiers, were it not that he remembered they could not afford that quality of equipment. “Cremisius Aclassi, with the Bull’s Chargers mercenary company. We mostly work out of Orlais and Nevarra but we came here as soon as we heard about the Breach. There are some Tevinter mercenaries gathering out on the Storm Coast which my company commander, Iron Bull, offers free of charge. We’d like to offer you our services and if you’d like to see what the Bull’s Chargers can do for the Inquisition, meet us there and watch us work.” 

He was so curious to see a mercenary group as if they were an attraction at a circus that he immediately said yes. “I think that’s a good idea. It seems like the right kind of day for it,” he said, looking at the sky, where little clouds hung listlessly under the blazing sun. 

He was with Varric at that time, who chuckled at his reply but assured the mercenary that they’d be there. “Alright, Cremisius. We might be going down at the Coast for a peek.” 

So here they were, very wet and unhappy, except for Varric who expected how this would play out. 

Another squall blew and Solas squinted. Drops ran down his long nose to drip at the tip, leaving behind the stinging salt. He raised his arm to his face to wipe it with his sleeve. “Excuse me Herald, but I thought we were supposed to get the mages?” he asked, stepping nimbly from foothold to foothold with his long, bare feet. 

“Yes. But Cullen said he needed to get the army ready,” Varric said, answering for Eanil. “You know, rousing the soldiers, getting the right equipment and the horses, de-tangling his hair-”

“De-tangling his hair?”

“Jealous, Chuckles?”

“Not at all,” Solas replied coolly. “I wonder why that has something to do with getting the army ready.”

“It has nothing to do with it,” Cassandra said curtly. She stared daggers at the dwarf’s back. “Quit telling them lies, Varric. I know you’ve volunteered to help the Inquisition but that does not mean you can misinform people about it.”

“I was having fun Seeker,” Varric said. “You do know what that is, fun?”

“Not since you came; no I don’t. Not when it’s from some people’s expense.”

“Not my fault if some people can’t get the stick out of their asses to have fun. Or pay what they owe.”

Cassandra snorted. “Pay for imaginary grudges? Hardly.”

“Oh, excuse me. I must have been brought here and assaulted by imaginary people. While I find who’s responsible for my bruises, don’t blame me if you can’t recruit anybody because you’re all cheerless boors.”

“You’ve ingratiated yourself quite well with the Herald, Varric, but you’re overreaching,” Cassandra warned. 

“I like Varric,” Eanil said from ahead of them. 

Varric crowed. “See that, Seeker? Looks like he knows what fun is.”

Cassandra looked from Varric to the Herald, who was looking far ahead. “I hope he doesn’t depend on it and find how empty that is,” she said quietly.

Eanil went still and held up a hand. “Keep quiet, I hear something,” he whispered. They went tense then heard the faint ringing of steel on steel and cries of pain from below them. They moved silently but swiftly down the slope and reached the beach where they saw what the guy at Haven told them. 

A group of people of varying armors was fighting against some people with strange but uniform clothes, with mages hooded and clothed in robes like sheaves of leaves and berserkers wearing helmets with a unihorn. He squinted and spotted the man at Haven, fighting beside a horned giant who was swinging a maul wantonly on his enemies’ heads and laughing amid the spray of their blood, thoroughly enjoying himself. 

“They’re good,” Varric remarked as they watched.

“Should we help them?” Eanil asked.

“No. If we’re going to hire a mercenary company, then we’d best see how good they are,” Varric answered. 

“For once, I agree, though I do not like the idea of the Inquisition hiring a group of people whose morals are bought with coin,” Cassandra said, pursing her lip.

“Relax. It’ll be fine. We can’t expect to always get free stuff,” Varric said.

Cassandra opened her mouth to retort but changed her mind and kept quiet. The rainy weather must have quenched her fire to quarrel with Varric today. 

They seemed to be picking off the mages first. An archer stood at a distance, shooting those trying to escape while the mage beside him shot spells to turn their enemies back to the fighting. They corralled the smugglers and led them to the giant’s maul. The last man finally fell and the fight was over. 

The giant then gave orders to his people. He saw them looking at him, put away his weapon and waited.

Eanil thought it safe for them to approach and so signaled his group to move forward. 

“So you’re the Inquisition, huh?” the Qunari asked when they got near. “Glad you could make it. Come on, have a seat,” he said, leading them to a flat boulder. The man seated himself on a rock and rested his muscled arms on his massive thighs which were clad in a green and yellow striped silk pants. Apart from the thick, wide belt around his waist and a leather harness across his chest, that was the only clothes he had on despite being on the soil of frosty Ferelden. 

He called his lieutenant to him. “You remember Cremisius Aclassi?” he asked, gesturing to the man coming near them.

“Good to see you again, Your Worship,” Krem said to him before reporting to his boss. His boss told him to go over the bodies again, saying he didn’t want any Tevinter bastards to get away. “No offense, Krem.”

“None taken. Least a bastard knows who his mother was. Puts one up you Qunari, right?” Krem said and left them.

The man chuckled at his quip then turned to them. “So, you’ve seen us fight,” he said, apparently noticing them holding back before. “And we’re worth it. I’m sure the Inquisition can afford us.”

“Depends on how much you charge,” Varric said, folding his arms across his chest.

“Nothing personally. I’m sure your ambassador-er, what's her name? Josephine. She would have the payment set-up.” He told them how Josephine would pay them in extraordinary detail, knowing very much how the Inquisition operates. The Inquisition shifted uncomfortably; Eanil thought he knew too much for a mercenary captain.

When the Qunari saw it just unnerved them, he threw in a bonus to sweeten the deal. “You’re not just getting the Chargers. You’re getting me. You need a frontline bodyguard, I’m your man. Demons, dragons, the bigger the better. And there’s one other thing. Ever hear of the Ben-hassrath?”

Varric answered for them all. “Ben-hassrath?” he asked, his tone rising. “Isn’t that the Qunari term for spies?”

“Not exactly. They handle loyalty, order, security and-yes information gathering,” he finally admitted.

“Why should this Ben-Hassrath be interested in us?” Cassandra asked, a faint hint of alarm also in her voice. 

Iron bull explained that they were interested in the Breach and heard about the elf’s power to seal it. The Breach threatened everyone and they thought the Inquisition would be the best way to stop it from spreading.

Eanil cocked his head. Iron Bull’s explanation hinted at the Qunari willing to offer an alliance with them. “So why are you telling me about them?”

“Because I’m one of them. That is, I’m a spy.” 

“What?” Varric and Cassandra asked loudly and simultaneously.

Iron Bull explained quickly before their panic sent them away, that with him in the Inquisition, he would be sending reports to them. In exchange, they would be using their own network to send any useful information to them. 

“You’re a spy?” Eanil echoed. He thought about it for a moment, remembering a story about Qunari: one coming to investigate a Blight and report back to his Arishok (he lived!), a group of them shipwrecked on a city (what a coincidence!) but instead tried to convert them all (they failed!) and a convert spinning yarn about a jewel but was actually after a list of Qunari spies throughout Thedas (what a bitch!). He looked at the Qunari in front of him and narrowed his eyes. “You’re not trying anymore, aren’t you?”

The Qunari spread his arms. “Does it look like people will believe me if I said I was just a farmer? With these horns?” he said, grabbing one for emphasis. “Besides, I’m going to be found out sooner or later so might as well that you hear it from me.”

“You have a point,” he said, after thinking it over. “So if we don’t take you, you’ll keep spying anyway?”

“That’s right,” Iron Bull answered cheerfully. 

It was a great risk to allow him in when they didn’t know what these Ben-Hassrath goals are, but even if they declined his invitation, he was sure that they were going to know about the Inquisition’s movements anyway. Iron Bull’s knowledge about the Inquisition’s finances was proof enough. “Alright, you’re in. Since you’ll keep spying anyway, we might as well keep you where we could keep an eye on you,” he said, narrowing his eyes at the giant’s.

“Uh, poor choice of words there,” Varric commented, looking nervously at the eyepatch. But the giant only laughed heartily and shook his hand. “It’s a deal then. Don’t worry,  _ Eye _ ’ll remember that,” he said and winked at him with his good eye.

Cassandra put her hand on her head and groaned.

* * *

They were late in getting back to Haven and so they camped for the night and ate their dinner around the campfire. Afterward, in the post haze of satiety, Varric decided to do some repairs on his weapon. The crossbow made Eanil curious and he watched silently as Varric removed its parts carefully, cleaned them and put them back together. It was the first time he had seen a crossbow that loads and shoots arrows by dozens, or something that has a very ornate stock.

“Be careful, Herald. The way you look at Bianca I think I just might get jealous,” Varric teased him, catching the elf staring at his weapon.

Eanil blinked. “Sorry. It’s just that I never saw anyone like it,” he said, unable to hold in his awe. “Where did you get that crossbow?”

He chuckled. “Bianca? As you said, she’s one of a kind.” He made the final polish and held it up for inspection. “There’s a hidden shop in Kirkwall called the Black Emporium. I found her in a barrel labeled ‘swag.’ The owner sold her to me for a ham sandwich and a pair of yellow ruffled pants.”

They both admired her for a while then he asked, “Why Bianca? Is she named for someone?”

Varric chuckled. “I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

“Complicated. It’s the one story I’ll never tell. We’ll just have to leave it at that.”

“Oh,” Eanil said, frowning. “I would have thought you’d name it after Cassandra.”

Varric stopped dead in his ministrations as he stared at him. So did the Seeker who was sitting across from them and also polishing her sword. “Why would I name it after her?” Varric asked him.

“I thought you two were married.”

Varric started coughing as Cassandra sputtered her denials. Solas smiled at Eanil as if he was a puppy that pooped in the carpet.

“What makes you think that?” Varric asked him.

“My mother, being the keeper of my clan, occasionally has couples seeking her advice when they’re quarreling like you two.”

“No. We’re not…married,” Cassandra said, the shock making her voice sound less forceful.

“If you aren’t, then why do you keep quarreling?” 

“Just because we’re quarreling doesn’t mean we have a relationship,” Varric said, visibly trying to keep his irritation out of his voice. “You heard about the Kirkwall Chantry being destroyed? The guy responsible used to be a friend of mine,” he explained patiently. “The Seeker had questions about that and thought I had answers. And you know how she asks questions, right?”

“And he knows how you answer,” Cassandra shot back. “You were under suspicion of slipping in apostates and inciting a rebellion. Instead of cooperating, you decide to lie. How else can I know the truth if you keep lying?”

“If the Chantry was good as you say, they’d put people like you behind bars, not running around an inquisition and roughing up people.” 

“I don’t rough up people.”

“Sorry, my mistake. You'd have your men do it for you,” Varric said, his voice getting louder.

She sighed. “You will never let that go, will you?”

“Probably not.”

“I think it's time to stop playing the wounded party with me, Varric.”

“Ignoring the times you actually wounded me? Like literally?”

“I did no such thing,” she answered indignantly. “I questioned you, and then brought you to Haven so you could tell your story to the Divine.”

“What then? "Thanks Varric! We believe you! See you around!"

“And ignoring the fact you did lie to me. Do not pretend to be an innocent bystander - I could have done far worse, with full justification,” she warned.

“Yes, thank you for not torturing me,” he said, raising his hands up to the sky. “I'm so much happier now.”

The Herald thought they had enough. “Alright, maybe it’s better if we do it separately,” he said, standing up and patting his bum. “While I’m talking with one, the other should make a list of the things they hate about their partner and the things they liked.”

They both stared at him, their jaw-dropping open. 

“Remember what’s important. You don't have two beings in a marriage, you have three: you, your spouse, and the marriage. And you have to take good care of all three. So if we've been arguing about whose fault it is, we’ll never get anywhere.” 

They kept staring at him. “Alright, Seeker,” Varric said finally, his eyes not leaving him. “I’ll stop picking a fight with you, you stop fighting with me. Some people are getting the wrong ideas.”

“Yes. I think it is best,” Cassandra answered. 


	12. Chapter 12

Redcliffe was a village near the Frostback mountains and part of the uselessly vast Hinterlands. To go there meant passing through a charming vista of stony hills, with grass and trees golden with summer. Wayward goats with shaggy coats grazed lazily on the slopes and upon hearing footsteps, scrambled up and away to safer pastures.

Redcliffe was also the place where the rebel mages held their headquarters and where the Inquisition hoped they could convince the mages to join them in stopping the Breach. The day was warm and sunny when they went there, perfect for a picnic, and its brightness inspired an expectation of success in their mission.

The entrance to the village was through a stone gate built over a pass. The gate was worn but still standing intact. Before they could enter, however, there was a Rift in their path that needed closing, spewing demons to harass the villagers within. They closed the Rift but when they walked through its remnants, Vivienne staggered back, then stood blinking a few times and shaking her head.

“Is something wrong?” Eanil asked her with concern.

“I’m alright,” she answered and put a hand on her head. For a moment, her vision swam with images overlapping with each other. People came and went from the village. Then, superimposed over them, were templars with red eyes stabbing and hacking at each other while demons roamed across the plain. She shook her head and squinted at the place where the rift had previously been. “These rifts seemed to have altered time around them.”

They exchanged worried looks with each other. Then Eanil raised a brow and asked, “Is that…bad?”

“I’m not sure. Let’s find out, shall we?” she replied and strode confidently into Redcliffe. At her wake, the Herald hoped she would carry on that confidence when they met Fiona. He hoped that, being colleagues, Vivienne would be able to convince the rebel leader to side with them. Besides, she was extremely willful based on their conversations. "I never worry, darling. A leash can be pulled from either end," she said once, when Eanil asked her about her opinion on the templars ruling the mages. 

The village was located on the edge of Lake Calendhad. Though tiny, it was famous for resisting invasions during Ferelden’s early years and currently, for being the hometown of Ferelden’s king, Alistair Theirin. Before the Fifth Blight, its houses surrounded a square with a Chantry on one side and a small inn higher up the slope. But time and experience had changed the once bucolic village into something else. The square was gone for one thing and was replaced with a narrow strip where two stalls sold goods such as weapons and herbs. The houses were built haphazardly on the hillside like mushrooms on a tree trunk, with most of the original owners gone due to the events from ten years ago. The inn was located down with the houses and upgraded due to the influx of travelers and pilgrims. Though the village had increased in popularity due to its role in the Fifth Blight, it had lost its charm through the loss of its original denizens, the element that gave it its character, driven away by the memory of the past.

Eanil did not know its history and remarked to himself that the village did not feel different from Haven. Dirt paths wound through the village, between houses were built with the usual Fereldan style of wood and stone, with carvings of blocky and chalk colored art and stone carvings of animals, mostly mabaris. However, something about the village was missing. 

A young elf mage was leaning on the low stone wall beside the main path and stood straight when he saw them come in. He walked towards them and raised a hand in greeting. “Are you the Inquisition?” he asked. They nodded and he continued, “Senior Enchanter Fiona is expecting you at the castle. Please follow me,” the young elf said, and lead them to the shaded path through the village that goes up to the castle.

As they walked through Redcliffe, they found the paths were packed with refugees and mages wandering around unsupervised which would have made a passing templar grind their teeth in rage. The mages were ragged and thin and they looked at the Herald’s group with wary eyes as they approached. Some mages have badly repaired robes, with injuries not long past peeking at the rips and scars. With their slim frames and slender fingers, they were the very picture of destitution. 

Eanil frowned. The feeling of something odd with the village was growing stronger. The more he looked at their surroundings, with mages pouring out the doors of houses to gawk at them and Chantry mothers stopping in their tracks to watch them pass by, the more this feeling persisted. Well apart from the mages, there seemed to be no villagers around.

He checked. That was it.

Despite being a village, he could not see the usual hustle and bustle of domesticity. There were no smoke coming from chimneys, no children running about and no people in the open working on their wares. Even the boats in the lake were docked, the nets stowed under the seat and the water of the lake remain undisturbed.

But he remembered it was recently converted to a mage headquarters. Perhaps this has temporarily halted the activities as the village was reprioritized for the rebellion’s needs and converted into a camp, just like Haven.

He relaxed. There was nothing to be worried about and he was about to scold himself for being silly, when he caught the mage leading them turn his head to the side. Eanil followed his gaze and saw a swarthy looking mage under the bower of a tree beside the inn. The mage saw him looking and quickly glanced away, instead of glaring like the rest of his bedraggled kind.

Something about him seemed made his hackles rise and Eanil looked around, squinting and his uneasiness increased when he saw the same kind of people all around them. They were easy to spot, for they seemed ill at ease with the form-fitting robes of the Circle, picking at it as if they were not used to it clinging so tightly. When they walked, they had a slightly comical gait, striding too widely that they nearly trip. Also, their bodies filled the robes out as if they never starved fighting in the woods. He pricked his ears, focusing on a pair whispering on a doorway to a house a few meters away from them and heard the accents that made his blood run cold.

It was as if he was back on Kirkwall’s bay in the docks with the ships carrying his brethren to a place far, far away.

His skin grew cold despite the sun beating above them. The cloth under his armor chafed against his skin, and his hair brushed across his cheeks unbearably. The colors seem sharper; he could see every tear and vein in the leaves of the trees, and the surrounding voices were magnified as if coming from a well. His heart started hammering against his ribs and made his limbs feel hollow and ready for flight.

He looked at his companions and saw they were not paying attention. Vivienne was busy sneering at the mages while Cassandra looked at them with pity. Varric meanwhile was off the path and examining the statue with an engraving about King Alistair’s deeds.

He needed to act fast without alerting the people surrounding them. So he asked them to stop. “Ooooh, what a pretty bird!” he exclaimed, moving towards a tree with a starling perched on its bough. Cassandra sighed behind him, and he heard the disappointment in it.

“We can look at it later, Herald. Right now, we have a meeting to attend,” she softly scolded, but he ignored her and kept on. He was brave enough to ignore her but saddened enough not to say what was troubling him. He walked closer to the tree and started making a bird call. Cassandra exchanged a look with Varric, who shrugged and went to him.

“Uh? Birdy? Meeting? Hello?” he interrupted.

“Oh? Yes. Excuse me. You’ve got lots of birds around here,” he said to the puzzled crowd, gesturing to the wooded hillside. A flock of starlings was on one tree, and they flew away, singing his call.

Some of them chuckled nervously at the Herald’s strange behavior but most of them kept staring, so he looked apologetic at them and followed his companions meekly up the castle.

They went past the gate and across a wide courtyard in the middle and followed their guide up the great steps to the main hall. His guide bowed his leave to them before the heavy oaken doors and they went unaccompanied into the main hall.

They walked the length of the hall on a red carpet covering the floor made of the same grey stone as the outside walls and passed by blocky stone columns on either side, holding up the curved ceiling. At the end, there was a dais before a great fireplace where the Redcliffe’s lord and his family would have dined, presiding over the meal among his vassals. Today, there was only Fiona, looking tiny in the magnificently carved chair intended for the lady of the castle. The lord’s chair was empty.

They stood before her, and she rose up to meet them. “Welcome. Thank you for coming to see us,” she said.

They looked expectantly at the Herald but he stayed silent, looking at Fiona intently. So Cassandra spoke on his behalf, “Pardon us if we took so long to reply. We’ve been busy for a week after we arrived in Haven so we couldn’t attend to you immediately.”

Fiona’s brows drew together. “A week? I’ve only just got back.”

Theirs did the same to her. “Enchanter Fiona, it’s been two weeks since we talked in Val Royeaux,” Cassandra said slowly.

Fiona’s frown deepened. Then she seemed to have remembered something and shook her head. “Ah, yes. I remember now,” she said, putting a hand to her temple

Vivienne tutted at her. “Your mind must be troubled by the stress of rebelling, my dear,” she said with her usual patronizing tone. Fiona dropped the hand and glared at her. “Come. Why don’t you tell us what’s making you ill?” she asked sweetly like a grandmother to a wayward child.

“It’s not what, it’s who,” she replied and turned to the side, where a man emerged from one of the doors at the back of the hall. “Agents of the Inquisition. Allow me to introduce Magister Gereon Alexius.”

The man strode forward into the light of the braziers. He was pale, with plain features except for a pair of bushy eyebrows like the outstretched wings of a hawk. He was wearing strange loose robes, red with sharp edges like cuts of paper and trimmed in silver and gold. Beneath his hood, he grinned at them with malice.

“A Magister? What is he doing here?” Cassandra asked sharply, putting a hand on the hilt of her sword.

“The Southern Mages are under my command. And you are the one who survived, yes?” he asked, turning to Eanil. “The one from the Fade? Interesting,” he remarked. His eyes looked Eanil up and down then stilled at his hand with the mark. The greedy look in the magister’s eyes sent his skin crawling, and he surreptitiously put his hand behind him.

“What do you mean they are under your command?” Cassandra demanded.

“The free mages have already pledged themselves to the services of the Imperium," he drawled and looked smugly at them all. "Whatever you wish to achieve with them, it is too late.”

Cassandra rounded on Fiona. “Have you lost your mind?”

“All hope of peace died with Justinia,” the senior enchanter replied and looked at them with long-suffering eyes. But her stance was still regal as she said, “This alliance would not have been my first choice, but we had no other options. We are losing this war. You would have seen the state of the mages on the way here. We were on the brink of being routed. But surrender is not an option; we might as well sign our death warrant. I needed to save as many people as we could.”

Cassandra looked around in alarm as strangers walked through the doors and surrounded them. They were dressed in the same clothes as Alexius instead of the richly embroidered and form-fitting velvet of the Circle. “Venatori,” She hissed under her breath and drew her blade. The others followed her cue and drew out their weapons. “Where is the Arl of Redcliffe?” she demanded.

“There were tensions growing. I did not want an incident so the Arl of Redcliffe had to go,” Alexius replied.

“I think Tevinter already has enough mages,” Vivienne said coolly at Alexius as if they were not in danger. “What could you possibly gain from them?”

“The Southern mages cost us much, but we will get our money back after they are properly trained. They will join our legion, but before that, they shall serve their original purpose, drawing out the one we need the most.” He looked straight at Eanil. “You.”

Fiona gasped. “This is not what we agreed on, Alexius.”

“What else do you think will happen? I thought it was simple for you to understand. His life,” he pointed at him, “for your freedom.”

“Don’t listen to him Fiona. We could still help you,” Cassandra said to the senior enchanter.

Alexius scoffed. “As if a ragtag group from the backwoods are in a position to help anyone.”

“I thought you were fighting against slavery,” Varric reasoned at Fiona. “But then you enslave yourselves to them?”

“No one was willing to help us. Not without a price,” Fiona said sadly. “We will never be free of the templars.” She raised her chin even though her eyes were filled with guilt. “If slavery is our fate, then at least let it be the master of our choice.”

Alexius barked a laugh while they stared speechless at her. “Very good, Fiona. Now, be a good servant and bound the Herald and his party for us.”

“I’ve only consented to bring the Herald to you, Alexius. Nothing more,” Fiona answered curtly.

Alexius tutted at her. “I shall note how you refuse to do more than what was written in the contract,” he muttered.

Varric waved his hand to get their attention. “Can you not haggle in front of the people you traded? We’re like, standing right here.”

“Be quiet,” Alexius scolded him then gestured to his own mages who held their staffs ready. “I shall relish bringing him low before he meets my master,” he said, looking at Eanil with a wide smile.

The Inquisition drew together, their backs to each other as the Venatori advanced, their staffs in front of them.

“So what do we do?” Varric whispered as he looked warily at the mages surrounding them. He waited for an answer from Eanil. When it did not come, he glanced at the Herald, brow raised, in silent question. Cassandra flicked her eyes in irritation and said, “Attack on my command,” she said. “They’ll probably fling spells at us so duck. Vivienne, you must-”

They heard a commotion at the side of the hall. Everyone froze, listening, then a man stumbled from the shadows, his hand on his bleeding stomach. A hand appeared beside his neck, holding his jaw still, while the other hand drew a blade across his neck. He fell forward to the floor with a clang of his armor, revealing Leliana.

“We heard your bird call. I came as fast as we could. The army is coming, Your Worship,” the spymaster said to Eanil.

Swiftly, her agents poured out from a door behind a tapestry and surrounded Alexius’ men. The Tevinters looked around at the agents who sprang from the shadows and looked to Alexius for orders.

Alexius stared in shock at Leliana. “How...?”

“The Herald is not as naïve as you thought,” she answered, with a nod at Eanil. “He warned us through the starlings’ cries. A Dalish signal, yes?”

Eanil nodded at her. The mages back at the village did not strike him as member of the Circle mages by their dress and when he heard them speak, he confirmed they were Tevinter. His clan was wary of Tevinter Raiders prowling on the Free Marches for slave and who has a pronounced preference for elves. As a hunter of his clan and their scout, he was attuned to their accents and upon hearing it in the village, realized that danger was afoot.

Alexius looked at them both and shook his head. “That still does not explain how you got in here. As far as I know, this castle was heavily fortified with my people.”

“I let them in.”

Alexius turned in shock to one of his men in bright yellow robes. “Felix? What have you done?” he asked the close-shaved, bareheaded man who, now that Eanil thought about it, looked like a younger version of Alexius, if his skin was ashy and there were heavy shadows under his eyes.

“Father, listen to yourself. Do you know what you sound like?” the man answered with a tired tone as if he had just come from a battle.

“He sounds like the sort of villainous cliché everyone expects us to be.”

One of the Venatori took off his hood, revealing a man with tanned skin and dark-eyes. He looked no different from the other Venatori but the merriment in his eyes and the flirtatious curl of his mustache made him look amiable than his fellow countrymen. He took off the Venatori cloak, revealing an odd garb underneath, with silk pants and a chest guard holding the sleeve of his robe on one arm and his casting arm bare.

Alexius narrowed his eyes at the stranger. “Dorian. I gave you a chance to be part of this. Clearly, it was a mistake. The Elder one has powers you would not believe. He will raise the Imperium from its own ashes. He will make the world bow to mages once more. We will rule from the Boric ocean to the Frozen seas,” he declared.

Dorian rubbed a hand to his forehead. “Oh Alexius, I thought we agreed this would never happen?” he asked him as if scolding a colleague. “Why have you changed your mind now?” 

“Stop it, Father,” Felix begged. “Give up the Venatori. Let the Southern Mages fight the Breach and let’s go home.”

“No! It’s the only way. Felix, he can save you,” the magister pleaded, the arrogance gone and replaced by genuine vulnerability. 

Felix blinked. “Save me?”

“There is a way. The Elder one promised. If I undo the mistake at the temple-”

Felix looked sadly at his father and shook his head. “I’m going to die. You need to accept that.”

Alexius stared at his son then turned away to look at Eanil with eyes full of hatred. “You are a mistake. You should never have existed.” He drew out an amulet and raised it high. It began to glow green like the Breach, filling the hall with dazzling light.

“Alexius, no!” Dorian shouted and leaped towards the magister. The Venatori around him held him back. The momentary distraction made the Inquisition take the chance to attack. Seeing this, the Venatori counter-attacked and chaos erupted in the hall as both sides struggled against each other. The Venatori whipped their staffs to drive the Inquisition back while the Inquisition drove forward. The hall shook with spells, bits of stone and wood flying into the air by the power of their magic and arrows whizzed by in answer.

Dorian’s yell had alerted Eanil that something bad was going to happen with the amulet, so he ducked and fought his way towards the magister who had run to the dais, away from the main fighting, with Dorian at his heels. Alexius put his hand out and was powering the amulet again but Dorian leaped at him and grasped his hand, shouting at Alexius. He clamped his fingers on the magister’s hand to wrench the thing from his grasp. They fought for the amulet, which was glowing dangerously between their hands. Eanil was running behind the magister, blade in hand. He was about to bury it behind him when the amulet burst and overwhelmed them with its power. As it brought forth a very familiar light, Eanil had only this thought: _Well, shit_.


End file.
